RBETJS^Pf 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
Robert  B.  Honeyman,  Jr. 


*♦  The  skull  of  an  old  mammoth  caved  the  head  of  Thompson  in.' 


THE 


POETICAL    WORKS 


BRET     HARTE. 

COMPLETE  edition: 
ILLUSTRATED. 


BOSTON : 
JAMES   R.  OSGOOD   AND   COMPANY, 

(lATK  TICKMOR  &  FIRI.DS,  AND  FIELDS,  OSGOOD,  &  CO.) 
1872. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871, 

By  JAMES   R.   OSGOOD   &   CO., 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


BOSTON : 
STEREOTYPED   AND   PRINTED   BY   RAND,    AVERY,   &    CO. 


POEMS. 


OOI^TTENTS. 


PAGE 

Sai»  Frahcisco,  from  the  Sea ^ 

The  Angelcs ^^ 

The  MouNTAHf  Heart's-Ease l^ 


Grizzly ^® 

Madrono ^ 


COTOTE  ^ 

To  A  Sea-Bird 26 

Heb  Letter ^ 

Dickens  ii»  Camp ^ 

What  the  Engines  said ^ 

"  The  Betcrn  of  Beusarids  " *3 

"Twenty  Years" *® 

FATR -»» 

IN  DIALECT. 

"Jim" ^ 

Chiquita '^ 

5 


6                                         CONTENTS. 

IN  DIALECT,  Continued. 

page 

Dow's  Flat 

.     63 

In  the  Tunnel 

.      70 

"Cicely" 

.      74 

Penelope        

.      82 

Plain  Language  from  Truthful  James     . 

.      8o 

The  Society  upon  the  Stanislow 

.      90 

POEMS  FROM  1860  TO  1868. 

John  Burns  of  Gettysburg 

.      97 

The  Tale  of  a  Pony 

.     105 

The  Miracle  of  Padre  Junipero  .... 

.     113 

An  Arctic  Vision 

.         .         .    119 

To  the  Pliocene  Skull 

.     125 

The  Ballad  of  the  Emeu 

.     129 

The  Aged  Stranger 

.     133 

"  How  are  YOU,  Sanitary  ?  " 

.    136 

The  Reveille 

.     139 

Our  Privilege 

.     142 

Relieving  Guard 

.     144 

PARODIES. 

A  Geological  Madrigal 

.    147 

The  Willows 

.    150 

North  Beach       

.         .         .    157 

The  Lost  Tails  of  Miletus 

.     158 

CONTENTS,                                       7 

EAST   ^VXD   WEST   POEMS. 

I.                                                               PAO£ 

A  Gbetport  Legend  .... 

165           1 

A  Newport  Romance 

.     169           1 

The  Hawk's  Nest      .... 

175 

In  the  Mission  Garden    . 

.     179 

The  Old  Major  explains 

184 

"Seventy-Nine" 

188 

Tritiifcl  James's  ^Vnswer  to  '^her  Letter" 

194 

Flrther  Language  from  Tbdthful  James 

200 

The  Wondertdl  Spring  or  San  Joaquin 

206 

On  a  Cone  of  the  Big  Trees 

214 

A  Sanitary  Message 

219 

The  Copperhead        .... 

223 

On  a  Pen  of  Thomas  Starr  Kino 

226 

Lone  Mountain 

228 

California's  Greeting  to  Seward 

231 

The  two  Ships 

234 

The  Goddess 

236 

Address 

240 

The  Lost  Gaujson    .... 

244 

The  Secomd  Review  of  the  Grand  Army 

257 

IL 

BEFORE  THE  CURTAIN. 

The  STAOB-DarvEB's  Story 207 

8  CONTENTS. 

EAST  AXD  WEST  POEMS  (II.),  Continued.  page 

Aspiring  Miss  De  Laine 273 

California  Madrigai. 287 

St.  Thomas   .       .       .       .       • 290 

Ballad  of  Mk.  Cooke      .       . 295 

Legends  of  the  Rhine 303 

Mrs.  Judge  Jenkins:  Sequel  to  Maud  Muller  .       .307 

AVITOR 312 

A  White-Pine  Ballad 316 

Little  Red  Riding-Hood 321 

The  Ritualist 323 

A  Moral  Vindicator 326 

Bongs  without  Sense 829 


SAN  FRANCISCO. 


FROM  THB  SEA. 


QERENE,  indifferent  of  Fate, 

Thou  sittest  at  the  Western  Gate; 


Upon  thy  heights  so  lately  won 
Still  slant  the  hauners  of  the  sun ; 

Thou  seest  the  white  seas  strike  their  tents, 
0  Warder  of  two  Continents  I 

And  scornful  of  the  peace  that  flies 
Thy  angry  winds  and  sullen  skies, 

9 


10  /  SAN  FRANCISCO. 

Thou  drawest  all  things,  small  or  great, 
To  thee,  beside  the  Western  Gate. 

0  lion's  whelp !   that  hidest  fast 

In  jungle  growth  of  spire  and  mast, 

1  know  thy  cunning  and  thy  greed. 
Thy  hard  high  lust  and  wilful  deed. 

And  all  thy  glory  loves  to  tell 
Of  specious  gifts  materiaL 

Drop  down,  0  fleecy  Fog!  and  hide 
Her  sceptic  sneer,  and  all  her  pride. 

Wrap  her,  0  Fog!  in  gown  and  hood 
Of  her  Franciscan  Brotherhood. 


SAN  FRANCISCO.  H 

Hide  me  her  faults,  her  sin  and  blame; 
With  thy  gray  mantle  cloak  her  shame  I 

So  shall  she,  cowled,  sit  and  pray 
Till  morning  bears  her  sins  away. 

Then  rise,  0  fleecy  Fog!  and  raise 
The  glory  of  her  coming  days ; 

Be  as  the  cloud  that  flecks  the  seas 
Above  her  smoky  argosies. 

When  forms  familiar  shall  give  place 
To  stranger  speech  and  newer  face; 

When  all  her  throes  and  anxious  fears 
Lie  hushed  in  the  repose  of  years ; 


12  SAN  FRANCISCO. 

When  Art  shall  raise  and  Culture  lift 
The  sensual  joys  and  meaner  thrift, 

And  all  fulfilled  the  vision,  we 

Who  watch  and  wait  shall  never  see,- 

Who,  in  the  morning  of  her  race, 
Toiled  fair  or  meanly  in  our  place, — 

But,  yielding  to  the  common  lot. 
Lie  unrecorded  and  forgot. 


i 


THE  ANGELUS, 

HEARD  AT  THE  MISSION  DOLORES,  1868. 

II  ELLS  of  the  Past,  whose  long-forgotten  music 

Still  fills  the  wide  expanse, 
Tingeing  the  soher  twilight  of  the  Present 
With  color  of  romance : 

I  hear  your  call,  and  see  the  sun  descending 

On  rock  and  wave  and  sand, 
As  down  the  coast  the  Mission  voices  blending 

Girdle  the  heathen  land. 

Within  the  circle  of  your  incantation 
Ko  blight  nor  mildew  falls; 

13 


14  THE    ANGELUS. 

Nor  fierce  unrest,  nor  lust,  nor  low  ambition 
Passes  those  airy  walls. 

Borne  on  the  swell  of  your  long  waves  receding, 
I  touch  the  farther  Past,  — 

I  see  the  dying  glow  of  Spanish  glory, 
The  sunset  dream  and  last! 

Before  me  rise  the  dome-shaped  Mission  towers, 

The  white  Presidio ; 
The  swart  commander  in  his  leathern  jerkin, 
^  The  priest  in  stole  of  snow. 

Once  more  I  see  Portala's  cross  uplifting 

Above  the  setting  sun; 
And  past  the  headland,  northward,  slowly  drifting 

The  freighted  galleon. 


THE   ANGELUS,  15 

0  solemn  bells!  whose  consecrated  masses 

Recall  the  faith  of  old,  — 
0  tinkling  bells !  that  lulled  with  twilight  music 

The  spiritual  fold! 

• 
Your  voices  break  and  falter  in  the  darkness, — 

Break,  falter,  and  are  still; 

And  veiled  and  mystic,  like  the  Host  descending, 

The  sun  sinks  from  the  hill  I 


^ 

THE  MOUNT  A  m  HEART'S-EASE. 

I)Y  scattered  rocks  and  turbid  waters  shifting, 
By  furrowed  glade  and  dell, 

To  feverish  men  thy  calm,  sweet  face  uplifting. 

Thou  stayest  them  to  tell 

The  delicate  thought,  that  cannot  find  expression, 

For  ruder  speech  too  fair. 

That,  like  thy  petals,  trembles  in  possession, 

And  scatters  on  the  air. 

The  miner  pauses  in  his  rugged  labor. 

And,  leaning  on  his  spade, 

16 

THE  MOUNTAIN  HEAR!  'S-EASE.  ] 

Laughingly  calls  unto  his  comrade-neighbor 
To  see  thy  charms  displayed; 

But  in  his  eyes  a  mist  unwonted  rises, 

And  for  a  moment  clear, 
Some  sweet  home  face  his  foolish  thought  surprises 

And  passes   in  a  tear. 

Some  boyish  vision  of  his  Eastern  village, 

Of  uneventful  toil, 
Where  golden  harvests  followed  quiet  tillage 

Above  a  peaceful  soil : 

One  moment  only;  for  the  pick,  uplifting, 

Through  root  and  fibre  cleaves. 
And  on  the  muddy  current  slowly  drifting 

Are  swept  thy  bruised  leaves. 

2» 


18  THE  MOUNTAIN  HEART'S-EASE. 

And  yet,  0  poet !  in  thy  homely  fashion 
Thy  work  thou  dost  fulfil; 

For  on  the  turbid  current  of  his  passion 
Thy  face  is  shining  still. 


GRIZZLY. 

/^OWARD, — of  heroic  size, 
In  whose  lazy  muscles  lies 
Strength  we  fear  and  yet  despise; 
Savage,  —  whose  relentless  tusks 
Are  content  with  acorn  husks; 
Robber, — whose  exploits  ne'er  soared 
O'er  the  bee's  or  BquirrePs  hoard; 
Whiskered  chin,  and  feeble  nose. 
Claws  of  steel  on  baby  toes,  — 
Here,  in  solitude  and  shade, 


20  GRIZZLY. 

Shambling,  shuffling,  plantigrade, 
Be  thy  courses  undismayed ! 

Here,  where  Nature  makes  thy  bed, 
Let  thy  rude,  half-human  tread 

Point  to  hidden  Indian  springs, 
Lost  in  ferns  and  fragrant  grasses. 

Hovered  o'er  by  timid  wings, 
Where  the  wood-duck  lightly  passes. 
Where  the  wild  bee  holds  her  sweets. 
Epicurean  retreats. 
Fit  for  thee,  and  better  than 
Pearful  spoils  of  dangerous  man. 

In  thy  fat-jowled  deviltry 
Priar  Tuck  shall  live  in  thee; 


GRIZZLY.  21 

Thou  mayst  levy  tithe  and  dole ; 

Thou  shalt  spread  the  woodland  cheer, 
From  the  pilgrim  taking  toll; 

Match  thy  cunning  with  his  fear; 
Eat,  and  drink,  and  have  thy  fill  ; 
Y/Bt  remain  an  outlaw  still  1 


MADEONO. 

y^APTAIN  of  the  Western  wood, 
Thou  that  apest  Eobin  Hood ! 
Green  above  thy  scarlet  hose, 
How  thy  velvet  mantle  shows; 
Never  tree  like  thee  arrayed. 
Oh,  thou  gallant  of  the  glade ! 

When  the  fervid  August  sun 
Scorches  all  it  looks  upon, 
And  the  balsam  of  the  pine 
Drips  from  stem  to  needle  fine, 
Round  'thy  compact  shade  arranged, 
Not  a  leaf  of  thee  is  changed ! 

22 


MADROStO.  23 

When  the  yellow  autumn  sun 
Saddens  all  it  looks  upon, 
Spreads  its  sackcloth  on  the  hills, 
Strews  its  ashes  in  the  rills. 
Thou  thy  scarlet  hose  dost  doflf, 
And  in  limbs  of  purest  buff 
Challengest  the  sombre  glade 
For  a  sylvan  masquerade. 

Where,  oh!  where,  shall  he  begin 
Who  would  paint  thee.  Harlequin  ? 
With  thy  waxen  burnished  leaf, 
With  thy  branches*  red  relief. 
With  thy  poly-tinted  fruit. 
In  thy  spring  or  autumn  suit, — 
Where  begin,  and  oh  I  where  end,  — 
Thou  whose  charms  all  art  transcend  ? 


COYOTE. 

13LOWN  out  of  the  prairie  in  twilight  and  dew, 
Half  bold  and  half  timid,  yet  lazy  all  through  ; 
Loath  ever  to  leave,  and  yet  fearful  to  stay. 
He  limps  in  the  clearing,  —  an  outcast  in  gray. 

A  shade  on  the  stubble,  a  ghost  by  the  wall, 
Now  leaping,  now  limping,  now  risking  a  fall, 
Lop-eared  and  large-jointed,  but  ever  alway 
A  thoroughly  vagabond  outcast  in  gray. 

Here,  Carlo,  old  fellow,  —  he's  one  of  your  kind,  — 
Go,  seek  him,  and  bring  him  in  out  of  the  wind. 

24 


COYOTE.  25 

What !   snarling,  my  Carlo !     So  —  even  dogs  may 
Deny  their  own  kin  in  the  outcast  in  gray. 

Well,  take  what  you  will,  —  though  it  be  on  the  sly, 
Marauding,  or  begging,  —  I  shall  not  ask  why; 
But  will  caU  it  a  dole,  just  to  help  on  his  way 
A  four-footed  friar  in  orders  of  gray. 
2 


TO  A  SEA-BIED. 


SANTA  CEUZ,  1869. 


O  AXUsTTERING  hither  on  listless  wings, 

Careless  vagabond  of  the  sea, 
Little  thou  heedest  the  surf  that  sings, 
The  bar  that  thunders,  the  shale  that  rings,  - 
Give  me  to  keep  thy  company. 

Little  thou  hast,  old  friend,  that's  new; 

Storms  and  wrecks  are  old  things  to  thee; 
Sick  am  I  of  these  changes  too; 
Little  to  care  for,  little  to  rue,  — 

I  on  the  shore,  and  thou  on  the  sea. 

26 


IMUe  thou  heedest  the  surf  that  sings.^ 


TO  A  SEA-BIRD.  27 

All  of  thy  wanderings,  far  and  near, 
Bring  thee  at  last  to  shore  and  me ; 

All  of  my  journeyings  end  them  hero, 

This  our  tether  must  be  our  cheer, — 
I  on  the  shore,  and  thou  on  the  sea. 

Lazily  rocking  on  ocean's  breast. 

Something  in  common,  old  friend,  have  we ; 
Thou  on  the  shingle  seek'st  thy  nest, 
I  to  the  waters  look  for  rest,  — 

I  on  the  shore,  and  thou  on  the  sea. 


HEE  LETTER. 

T'M  sitting  alone  by  the  fire, 

Dressed  just  as  I  came  from  the  dance, 
In  a  robe  even  you  would  admire,  — 

It  cost  a  cool  thousand  in  France ; 
I'm  be-diamonded  out  of  all  reason, 

My  hair  is  done  up  in  a  cue  : 
In  short,  sir,  "  the  belle  of  the  season  " 

Is  wasting  an  hour  on  you. 

A  dozen  engagements  I've  broken; 

I  left  in  the  midst  of  a  set ; 
Likewise  a  proposal,  half  spoken. 

That  waits  —  on  the  stairs  —  for  me  yet. 


HER  LETTER.  29 

They  say  he'll  be  rich,  —  when  he  grows  up,  — 

And  then  he  adores  me  indeed. 
And  you,  sir,  are  turning  your  nose  up, 

Three  thousand  miles  off,  as  you  read. 

"  And  how  do  I  like  my  position  ?  " 

''And  what  do  I  think  of  New  York?" 
"And  now,  in  my  higher  ambition, 

With  whom  do  I  waltz,  flirt,  or  talk?" 
"  And  isn't  it  nice  to  have  riches. 

And  diamonds  and  silks,  and  all  that  ?  " 
"And  aren't  it  a  change  to  the  ditches 

And  tunnels  of  Poverty  Flat  ?  " 

Well,  yes,  —  if  you  saw  us  out  driving 
Each  day  in  the  park,  four-in-hand, — 

3* 


30  HER  LETTER. 

If  you  saw  poor  dear  mamma  contriving 
To  look  supematurally  grand,  — 

If  you  saw  papa's  picture,  as  taken 
By  Brady,  and  tinted  at  that,  — 

You'd  never  suspect  he  sold  bacon 
And  flour  at  Poverty  Flat. 


And  yet,  just  this  moment,  when  sitting 

In  the  glare  of  the  grand  chandelier, — 
In  the  bustle  and  glitter  befitting 

The  "finest  soiree  of  the  year,"  — 
In  the  mists  of  a  gaze  de  Chamberyj 

And  the  hum  of  the  smallest  of  talk,  — 
Somehow,  Joe,  I  thought  of  the  "  Ferry," 

And  the  dance  that  we  had  on  "The  Fork;" 


HER  LETTER.  31 

Of  Harrison's  bam,  with  its  muster 

Of  flags  festooned  over  the  wall ; 
Of  the  candles  that  shed  their  soft  lustre 

And  tallow  on  head-dress  and  shawl; 
Of  the  steps  that  we  took  to  one  fiddle; 

Of  the  dress  of  my  queer  vis-a-vis  ; 
And  how  I  once  went  down  the  middle 

With  the  man  that  shot  Sandy  McGee; 


Of  the  moon  that  was  quietly  sleeping 
On  the  hill,  when  the  time  came  to  go; 

Of  the  few  baby  peaks  that  were  peeping 

From  under  their  bedclothes  of  snow ; 

Of  that  ride,  —  that  to  me  was  the  rarest ; 
I 
Of — the  something  you  said  at  the  gate 


32  IJER  LETTER. 

Ah,  Joe!   then  I  wasn't  an  heiress 

To  "  the  best-paying  lead  in  the  State." 

Well,  well,  it's  all  past;  yet  it's  funny 

To  think,  as  I  stood  in  the  glare 
Of  fashion  and  beauty  and  money. 

That  I  should  be  thinking,  right  there, 
Of  some  one  who  breasted  high  water. 

And  swam  the  North  Fork,  and  all  that. 
Just  to  dance  with  old  Folinsbee's  daughter, 

The  Lily  of  Poverty  Flat? 

But  goodness !  what  nonsense  I'm  writing ! 

(]Mamma  says  my  taste  still  is  low,) 
Instead  of  my  triumphs  reciting, 

I'm  spooning  on  Joseph,  —  heigh-ho  I 


J 


HER  LETTER.  33 

And  I'm  to  be  "  finished "  by  travel,  — 

Wbatever's  the  meaning  of  that, — 
Oh!  why  did  papa  strike  pay  gravel 

In  drifting  on  Poverty  Flat? 


Good-night,  —  here's  the  end  of  my  paper ; 

Good-night,  —  if  the  longitude  please,  — 
For  maybe,  while  wasting  my  taper, 

Y(mr  sun's  climbing  over  the  trees. 
But  know,  if  you  haven't  got  riches, 

And  are  poor,  dearest  Joe,  and  all  that, 
That  my  heart's  somewhere  there  in  the   ditches, 

And  you've  struck  it,  —  on  Poverty  Plat, 


DICKENS   IN    CAMP. 

A    BOVE  the  pines  the  moon  was  slowly  drifting, 
The  river  sang  below ; 
The  dim  Sierras,  far  beyond,  uplifting 
Their  minarets  of  snow. 

The  roaring  camp-fire,  with  rude  humor,  painted 

The  ruddy  tints  of  health 
On  haggard  face  and  form  that  drooped  and  fainted 

In  the  fierce  race  for  wealth. 

Till  one  arose,  and  from  his  pack's  scant  treasure 
A  hoarded  volume  drew, 

34 


DICKENS  IN  CAMP.                             35 

And  cards  were  dropped  from  hands  of  listless  leisure 

To  hear  the  tale  anew  j 

And  then,  while  round  them  shadows  gathered  faster, 

And  as  the  firelight  fell, 

He  read  aloud  the  book  wherein  the  Master 

Had  writ  of  ''Little  Nell/' 

Perhaps  'twas  boyish  fancy,  —  for  the  reader 

Was  youngest  of  them  all,  — 

But,  as  he  read,  from  clustering  pine  and  cedar 

A  silence  seemed  to  fall; 

The  fir-trees,  gathering  closer  in  the  shadows, 

Listened  in  every  spray. 

36  DICKENS  IN  CAMP. 

While    the    whole    camp    with    "  Nell "    on    English 
meadows 
Wandered,  and  lost  their  way. , 

And  so  in  mountain  solitudes  —  o'ertaken 

As  by  some  spell  divine  — 
Their  cares  drop  from  them  like  the  needles  shaken 

Erom  out  the  gusty  pine. 

Lost  is  that  camp,  and  wasted  all  its  fire ; 

And  he  who  wrought  that  spell?  — 
Ah,  towering  pine  and  stately  Kentish  spire. 

Ye  have  one  tale  to  tell ! 

Lost  is  that  camp !  but  let  its  fragrant  story 
Blend  with  the  breath  that  thrills 

With  hop-vines'  incense  all  the  pensive  glory 
That  fills  the  Kentish  hills. 


DICKENS  IN  CAMP.  37 

And  on  that  grave  Vhere  English  oak  and  holly 

And  laurel  wreaths  intwine, 
Deem  it  not  all  a  too  presumptuous  folly,  — 

This  spray  of  Western  pine! 

Jdlt,  1870. 

4 


WHAT  THE  ENGINES  SAID. 

OPENING    OF    THE    PACIFIC    RAILROAD. 

"TTT"HAT  was  it  the  Engines  said, 

Pilots  touching,  —  head  to  head 
Facing  on  the  single  track. 
Half  a  world  behind  each  back  ? 
This  is  what  the  Engines  said. 
Unreported  and  unread. 

With  a  prefatory  screech, 
In  a  florid  Western  speech, 


WHAT  THE  ENGINES  SAID.  31) 

Said  the  Engine  from  the  WEST, 
"I  am  from  Sierra's  crest; 
And,  if  altitude's  a  test, 
Why,  I  reckon,  it's  confessed. 
That  I've  done  my  level  best." 

Said  the  Engine  from  the  EAST, 
"They  who  work  best  talk  the  least. 
S'pose  you  whistle  down  your  brakes; 
What  youVe  done  is  no  great  shakes, — 
Pretty  fair,  —  but  let  our  meeting 
Be  a  different  kind  of  greeting. 
Let  these  folks  with  champagne  stuffing, 
Not  their  Engines,  do  the  puffinrj. 

"Listen!     WTiere  Atlantic  beats 
Shores  of  snow  and  summer  heats; 


40  WHAT  THE  ENGINES  SAID. 

Where  the  Indian  autumn  skies 
Paint  the  woods  with  wampum  dyes, 
I  have  chased  t]ie  flying  sun, 
Seeing  all  he  looked  upon, 
Blessing  all  that  he  has  blest, 
Nursing  in  my  iron  breast 
All  his  vivifying  heat. 
All  his  clouds  about  my  crest; 
And  before  my  flj^ing  feet 
Every  shadow  must  retreat." 

Said  the  Western  Engine,  "  Phew  ! " 
And  a  long,  low  whistle  blew. 
"Come  now,  really  that's  the  oddest 
Talk  for  one  so  very  modest. 
You  brag  of  your  East !      You  do  ? 
Why,  /  bring  the  East  to  you! 


WHAT  THE  ENGINES  SAID.  41 

All  the  Orient,  all  Cathay, 

Find  through  me  the  shortest  way; 

And  the  sun  you  follow  here 

Rises  in  my  hemisphere. 

Really,  —  if  one  must  be  rude,  — 

Length,  my  friend,  ain't  longitude." 


Said  the  Union,  "Don't  reflect,  or 
I'll  run  over  some  Director." 
Said  the  Central,  "I'm  Pacific; 
But,  when  riled,  I'm  quite  terrific. 
Yet  to-day  we  shall  not  quarrel. 
Just  to  show  these  foUcs  this  moral. 
How  two  Engines  —  in  their  vision - 
Once  have  met  without  collision." 


42  WHAT  THE  EiVGIAES  SAID. 

That  is  what  the  Engines  said, 
Unreported  and  unread; 
Spoken  slightly  through  the  nose, 
With  a  whistle  at  the  close. 


"THE  RETURN   OF  BELISARIUS." 

MUD   FLAT,  1869. 

OO  you're  back  from  your  travels,  old  fellow, 

And  you  left  but  a  twelvemonth  ago: 
You've  hobnobbed  with  Louis  Napoleon, 

Eugenie,  and  kissed  the  Pope's  toe. 
By  Jove !    it  is  perfectly  stunning, 

Astounding,  and  all  that,  you  know : 
Yes,  things  are  about  as  you  left  them 

In  Mud  Flat  a  twelvemonth  ago. 

The  boys!—  They're  all  right,— Oh!   Dick  Ashley 
He's  buried  somewhere  in  the  snow; 

He  was  lost  on  the  Summit,  last  winter, 
And  Bob  has  a  hard  row  to  hoe. 

43 


44  "  THE  RETURN  OF  BELISARIUS:' 

You  knew  that  he's  got  the  consumption  ? 

You  didn't!     Well,  come,  that's  a  go: 
I  certainly  wrote  you  at  Baden,  — 

Dear  me !  that  was  six  months  ago. 

I  got  all  your  outlandish  letters, 

All  stamped  by  some  foreign  P.O. 
I  handed  myself  to  Miss  Mary 

That  sketch  of  a  famous  chateau. 
Tom  Saunders  is  living  at  'Frisco, — 

They  say  that  he  cuts  quite  a  show. 
You  didn't  meet  Euchre-deck  Billy 

Anywhere  on  your  road  to  Cairo  ? 

So  you  thought  of  the  rusty  old  cabin, 
The  pines,  and  the  valley  below; 


•'  THE  RETURN  OF  BELISARIUSr  45 

And  heard  the  North  Fork  of  the  Yuba, 
As  you  stood  on  the  banks  of  the  Po? 

'Twas  just  like  your  romance,  old  fellow; 
But  now  there  is  standing  a  row 

Of  stores  on  the  site  of  the  cabin 
That  you  lived  in  a  twelvemonth  ago. 

But  it's  jolly  to  see  you,  old  fellow.  — 

To  think  it's  a  twelvemonth  ago! 
And  you  have  seen  Louis  Napoleon, 

And  look  like  a  Johnny  Crapaud. 
Come  in.     You  will  surely  see  Mary, 

You  know  we  are  married.     What,  no  ? 
Oh,  ay!     I  forgot  there  was  something 

Between  you  a  twelvemonth  ago. 


-*  TWENTY  YEAES." 


I  3 EG  your  pardon,  old  fellow!     I  think 

I  was  dreaming  just  now,  when  you  spoke. 
The  fact  is,  the  musical  clink 
Of  the  ice  on  your  wine-goblet^s  brink 
A  chord  of  my  memory  woke. 


And  I  stood  in  the  pasture-field  where 
Twenty  summers  ago  I  had  stood; 
And  I  heard  in  that  sound,  I  declare, 
The  clinkings  of  bells  on  the  air, 
Of  the  cows  coming  home  from  the  wood. 

46 


''TWENTY  years:' 

Then  the  apple-hlooms  shook  on  the  hill; 
And  the  mullein-stalks  tilted  each  lance ; 
And  the  snn  behind  Eapalye's  mill 
Was  my  uttermost  West,  and  could  thrill 
Like  some  fanciful  land  of  romance.  ^ 

Then  my  friend  was  a  hero,  and  then 
My  girl  was  an  angel.     In  fine, 
I  drank  buttermilk;  for  at  ten 
Faith  asks  less  to  aid  her,  than  when 
At  thirty  we  doubt  over  wine. 

Ah  well,  it  does  seem  that  I  must 

Have  been  dreaming  just  now  when  you  spoke 

Or  lost,  very  like,  in  the  dust 

Of  the  years  that  slow  fashioned  the  crust 

On  that  bottle  whose  seal  you  last  broke. 


48  ••  TWENTY  YEARS." 

Twenty  years  was  its  age,  did  you  say  ? 
Twenty  years?     Ah,  my  friend,  it  is  true! 
All  the  dreams  that  have  flown  since  that  day. 
All  the  hopes  in  that  time  passed  away, 
Old  friend,  I've  been  drinking  with  you! 


FATE. 

"  np  HE  sky  is  clouded,  the  rocJ:s  are  bare ; 

The  spray  of  the  tempest  is  white  in  air ; 
The  winds  are  out  with  the  waves  at  play, 
And  I  shall  not  tempt  the  sea  to-day. 

"  The  trail  is  narrow,  the  wood  is  dim. 
The  panther  clings  to  the  arching  limb; 
And  the  lion's  whelps  are  abroad  at  play, 
And  I  shall  not  join  in  the  chase  to-day." 

But  the  ship  sailed  safely  over  the  sea, 
And  the  hunters  came  from  the  chase  in  glee ; 
And  the  town  that  was  builded  upon  a  rock 
Was  swallowed  up  in  the  earthquake  shock. 

6  49 


IN     DIALECT. 


*'  This  ye r  Jim,  did yoji  know  him  'i 


"JIM." 

QAY,  there!     PVaps 
Some  on  you  chaps 
Might  know  Jim  Wild? 
Well, — no  ofifence: 
Thar  ain't  no  sense 
In  gittin'  riled! 

Jim  was  my  chum 
Up  on  the  Bar: 

Tiiat's  why  I  come 
Down  from  np  yar, 


63 


54  "  y^^'^-" 

Lookin'  for  Jim. 
Thank  ye,  sir  !     Yoic 
Ain't  of  that  crew,  — 
Blest  if  you  are ! 

Money  ?  —  Not  much ; 

That  ain't  ray  kind : 
I  ain't  no  such. 

Rum  ?  —  I  don't  mind, 
Seein'  it's  you. 

Well,  this  yer  Jim, 
Did  you  know  him  ?  — 
Jess  'bout  your  size; 
Same  kind  of  eyes  ?  — 


jiMr  55 


Well,  that  is  strange : 
Why,  it's  two  year 
Since  he  came  here, 

Sick,  for  a  change. 

Well,  here's  to  us: 

Eh? 
The  h you  say  ! 

Dead?  — 
That  little  cuss? 

What  makes  you  star. 
You  over  thar? 
Can't  a  man  drop 
's  glass  in  yer  shop 


m  ''jjm: 


But  you  must  rar'  ? 
It  wouldn't  take 
D much  to  breali: 

You  and  your  bar. 

Pead! 
Poor  —  little  —  Jim ! 
—  Why,  thar  was  me, 
Jones,  and  Bob  Lee, 
Harry  and  Ben,  — 
jSTo-account  men: 
Then  to  take  1dm  ! 

Well,  thar—     Good-by,— 
No  more,  sir,  —  I  — 

Eh? 
What's  that  you  say?  — 


Soldi'' 


"  y/j/." 

Wliy,  dern  it !  —  sho  !  — 
No?     Yes!     By  Jo! 

Sold! 
Sold!     Why,  you  limb, 
You  ornery, 

Demed  old 
Long-legged  Jim! 


CHIQUITA. 

T3EAXJTIFUL!  Sir,  you  may  say  so.  Tliar  isn't 
her  match  in  the   county. 

Is  thar,  old  gal, — Chiquita,  my  darling,  my  beauty? 

Feel  of  that  neck,  sir,  —  thar's  velvet !  Whoa ! 
Steady,  —  ah,  will  you,  you  vixen  ! 

Whoa !  I  say.  Jack,  trot  her  out ;  let  the  gentle- 
man look  at  her  paces. 

Morgan !  —  She  ain't  nothin'    else,    and   I've   got   the 

papers  to  prove  it. 
Sired  by  Chippewa  Chief,  and 'twelve  hundred  dollars 

won't  buy  her. 

58 


CHIQUITA, 

59 

Briggs    of    Tuolumne    owned    he 

r.      Did    you    know 

Briggs  of  Tuolumne  ?  — 

Busted    hisself    in    White    Pine, 

and   blew    out    his 

brains  down  in  Trisco? 

Hedn't  no  savey  —  lied  Briggs. 

Thar,    Jack!   that'll 

do,  — quit  that  foolin' ! 

^ 

Nothin'  to  what  she  kin  do,  when  she's  got  her  work 

cut  out  before  her. 

Hosses  is  bosses,  you   know,  and 

likewise,   too,  jock- 

eys  is  jockeys; 

And  'tain't  ev'ry  man  as  can  ride 

as   knows   what   a 

boss  has  got  in  him. 

Know   the   old   ford   on    the    Fork,    that   nearly   got 

Flanigan's  leaders? 

60  CHIQUITA. 

Nasty   in  daylight,  you  bet,  and  a  mighty  rough  ford 

in  low  water ! 
Well,  it  ain't  six  weeks  ago  that  me    and   the   Jedge 

and  his  nevey 
Struck  for  that  ford   in    the    night,    in   the   rain,    and 

the  water  all  round  us  j 


Up    to    our    flanks    in    tlie    gulch,    and    Rattlesnake 

Creek  just  a  bilin', 
Not  a  plank  left  in  the  dam,  and    nary    a   bridge    on 

the  river. 
\  had  the  gray,    and    the    Jedge    had    his    roan,    and 

his  nevey,  Chiquita; 
And  after  us  trundled  the  rocks  jest  loosed  from    the 

top  of   the  canon. 


CIIJQUnA. 

61 

Lickity,  lickity,    switch,    we    came    to 

the 

ford ;    and 

Chiquita 

Buckled  right  down  to  her  work,  and, 

afore    I    could 

yell  to  her  rider, 

Took  water  jest  at  the  ford ;  and  there 

was 

the  Jedge 

and  me  standing, 

And  twelve  hundred  dollars  of    hoss-flesh 

afloat,   and 

a  driftin'  to  thunder! 

Would  ye  b'lieve  it?   that  night    that 

hoss,  that  ar' 

filly,  Chiquita, 

Walked   herself  into   lier   stall,    and   stood 

there,    all 

quiet  and  dripping: 

Clean  as  a  beaver  or  rat,  with  nary  a 

buckle  of  liar- 

ness, 

6 

62  CHIQUITA. 

Just    as    she    swam    the    Fork, — that    hoss,    that    ar' 
filly,  Chiquita. 

That's   what    I    call    a  hoss !    and  —     What  did  you 

say?  —  Oh!  the  nevey? 
Drownded,  I  reckon,  —  leastways,  he  never  kem  back 

to  deny  it. 
Ye  see,  the  derned   fool    had   no   seat, — ye    couldn't 

have  made  him  a  rider ; 
And  then,  ye  know,  boys  will  be  boys,  and  bosses  — 

well,  bosses  is  bosses! 


D' 


DOW'S  FLAT. 

1856. 

^OWS   FLAT.     That's  its  name. 
And  I  reckon  that  you 
Are  a  stranger  ?     The  same  ? 
Well,  I  thought  it  was  true, 
For  thar  isn't  a  man  on  the  river  as  can't    spot    the 
place  at  first  view. 

It  was  called  after  Dow, — 

Which  the  same  was  an  ass; 
And  as  to  the  how 

Thet  the  thing  kem  to  pass, — 


64  DOWS   FLAT. 

Jest  tie  up  your  boss    to    that    buckeye,    and    sit    ye 
down  bere  in  tbe  grass  : 

You  see,  tbis  'y^r  Dow, 

Hed  tbe  worst  kind  of   luck: 
He  slipped  up  somebow 

On  eacb  tbing  thet  be  struck. 
Wby,  ef  be'd   a   straddled  tbet  fence-rail,  tbe  derned 
tbing  'ed  get  up  and  buck. 

He  mined  on  tbe  bar 

Till  be  couldn't  pay  rates; 
He  was  smasbed  by  a  car 

When  be  tunnelled  witb  Bates; 
And   rigbt   on   tbe   top   of   bis   trouble   kern    bis  wife 
and  five  kids  from  tbe  States. 


DOW'S  FLAT.  65 

It  was  rough,  —  mighty  rough; 
But  the  boys  they  stood  by, 
And  they  brought  him  the  stuflF 
For  a  house,  on  the  sly; 
And    the   old   woman, — well,    she    did   washing,    and 
took  on  when  no  one  was  nigh. 

But  this  yer  luck  of  Dow^s 

Was  80- powerful  mean, 
That  the  spring  near  his  house 
Dried  right  up  on  the  green; 
And  he  sunk  forty  feet  down  for  water,  but  nary  a 
drop  to  be  seen. 


Then  the  bar  petered  out, 
And  the  boys  wouldn't  stay; 


06  DOIV'S  FLAT. 

And  the  cliills  got  about, 
And  his  wife  fell  away; 
But   Dow,  in   his  well,  kept   a  peggin'    in   his   usual 
ridikilous  way. 

One  day,  —  it  was  June, — 
And  a  year  ago,  jest, — 
This  Dow  kem  at  noon 
To  his  work  like  the  rest, 
With    a    shovel    and    pick    on    his    shoulder,    and    a 
derringer  hid  in  his  breast. 

He  goes  to  the  well ; 

And  he  stands  on  the  brink, 
And  stops  for  a  spell 

Jest  to  listen  and  think: 


"  He  stands  on  the  brink:* 


DOW'S  FLAT.  67 

For  the   sun   in   his   eyes,    (jest  like   this,   sir!)  you 
see,  kinder  made  the  cuss  blink. 

His  two  ragged  gals 

In  the  gulch  were  at  play, 
And  a  gownd  that  was  Sal's 
Kinder  flapped  on  a  bay; 
Not  much  for  a  man, to  be  leavin',  but  his  all,  —  as 
I've  heer'd  the  folks  say. 

And —    That's  a  peart  boss 

Thet  you've  got,  —  ain't  it  now? 
What  might  be  her  cost? 

Eh?     Oh!  — Well,  then,  Dow  — 
Let's    see,  —  well,   that    forty-foot    grave   wasn't  his, 
sir,  that  day,  anyhow. 


68  DOW S  FLAT. 

Tor  a  blow  of  liis  pick 

Sorter  caved  in  the  side; 
And  he  looked,  and  turned  sick, 

Then  he  trembled  and  cried. 
For,  you  see,  the  dern  cuss  had  struck  —  "  Water  ? ''  — 
Beg  your  parding,  young  man,  there  you  lied  I 

It  was  gold^  —  in  the  quartz, 

And  it  ran  all  alike; 
And  I  reckon  five  oughts 

Was  the  worth  of  that  strike; 
And    that    house   with   the   coopilow's   his'n,  —  which 
the  same  isn't  bad  for  a  Pike. 

Thet's  why  it's  Dow's  Flat; 
And  the  thing  of  it  is, 


/twasgoid:' 


DOWS  FLAT.  69 

That  he  kinder  got  that 
Through   sheer  contrairiness : 
For   'twas    water    tlie    demed   cuss   was   seekin',    and 
his  luck  made  him  certain  to  miss. 

That's  80.     Thar's  your  way 

To  the  left  of  yon  tree; 
But  —  a  —  look  h'yur,  say? 
Won't  you  come  up  to  tea? 
No?    Well,   then  the   next  time  you're  passin';   and 
ask  after  Dow,  —  and  thet's  me. 


IN  THE    TU:N'NEL. 

"r>vIDN'T  know  Flynn,  ■ 
Flynn  of  Virginia, - 
Long  as  he's  been  'jav? 
Look'ee  here,  stranger, 
Whar  Aev  you  been? 

Here  in  this  tunnel 

He  was  my  pardner. 
That  same  Tom  Flj^nn,  — 
.Working  together, 

c 

In  wind  and  weather, 

Day  out  and  in. 
70  ' 


IN  THE   TUNNEL, 

Didn't  know  Flynn  I 
Well,  that  is  queer; 

Why,  it's  a  sin 

To  think  of  Tom  Flynn, 
Tom  with  his  cheer, 
Tom  without  fear,  — 
Stranger,  look  'yarl 


Thar  in  the  drift, 

Back  to  the  wall, 
He  held  the  timbers 

Ready  to  fall; 

Then  in  the  darkness 
I  heard  him  call: 

"  Eun  for  your  life,  Jake  I 


72  IN  THE   TUNNEL. 

Run  for  your  wife's  sake ! 
Don't  wait  for  me." 
And  that  was  all 
Heard  in  the  din, 
Heard  of  Tom  Flynn, — 
Flynn  of  Virginia. 


That's  all  about 
Flynn  of  Virginia. 

That  lets  me  out. 

Here  in  the  damp,  — 

Out  of  the  sun,  — 
That  'ar  derned  lamp 

Makes  my  eyes  run. 

"Well,  there,  —  I'm  done  ! 


IN   THE    TUNNEL,  73 

But,  «ir,  when  j^oii'll 
Hear  the  next  fool 

Asking  of  Flynn, — 
Tlynn  of  Virginia,  — 

Just  you  chip  in, 

Say  you  knew  Flynn ; 
Say  that  you  've  been  'yar. 


«  CICELY." 

ALKALI    STATION. 

/^ICELY    says    you're    a    poet;    maybe;    I    ain't 

mucli  on  rhyme ; 
I    reckon    you'd    give    me    a   hundred,    and    heat    me 

every  time. 
Poetry !  —  that's    the    way   some    chaps    puts    up    an 

idee, 
But   I    takes    mine    "straight    without    sugar,"    and 

that's  what's  the  matter  with  me. 

Poetry! — just    look    round    you,  —  alkali,    rock,    and 

sage; 
Sage-brush,  rock,  and  alkali :    ain't  it  a  pretty  page  I 

74 


< 

'CICELVr 

75 

Sun 

in   the   east   at 
night, 

mornin',    sun    in 

the    west    at 

And 

the  shadow  of  this  'yer  station   the   on'y  thing 

moves  in  sight. 

Poetry !  — Well,  now- 

-    Polly!    Polly, 

run   to   your 

mam; 

Run 

right   away,   my 
lamb? 

pooty!    By  by! 

Ain't   she   a 

Poetry!  —  that   reminds  me   o'  suthin' 

right   in   that 

suit: 

Jest 

shet    that    door 
ears  is  cute. 

thar,   will   yer?- 

—  for   Cicely's 

Ye   ] 

noticed  Polly,  —  the  baby  ?     A  month  afore  she 

was  bom, 

» 

Cicely  —  my  old  woman — was  moody-lilce  and  forlorn  j 

76  "  CICEL  K" 

Out   of   her  head   and   crazy,    and   talked   of    flowers 

and  trees : 
Family   man    yourself,   sir?      Well,    you   know  what 

a  woman  he's. 

Narvous     she     was,     and    restless,  —  said    that    she 

"couldn't  stay." 
Stay,  —  and  the  nearest  woman  seventeen  miles  away. 
But   I   fixed   it  up  with  the  doctor,   and  he  said  he 

would  be  on  hand; 
And   I  kinder  stuck  by  the   shanty,   and  fenced  in 

that  bit  o'  land. 

One  night,  —  the  tenth  of  October,  —  I  woke  with  a 

chill  and  fright. 
For  the  door  it  was  standing  open,  and  Cicely  warn't 

in  sight; 


'' cicely:'  77 

But  a  note  was  pinned  on  the  blanket,  which  it  said 

that  she  "couldn't  stay," 
But  had  gone  to  visit  her  neighbor,  —  seventeen  miles 

away ! 

When  and  how  she  stampeded,  I  didn't  wait  for  to  see, 
For  out  in  the  road,  next  minit,  I  started  as  wild  as 

she; 
Running   first   this  way  and   that  way,  like   a  hound 

that  is  off  the  scent. 
For  there  wam't  no  track  in  the  darkness  to  tell  me 

the  way  she  went. 

IVe  had  some  mighty  mean  moments  afore  I  kem  to 

this  spot,  — 
Lost   on   the   Plains   in   '50,   drownded    almost,    and 

shot; 


78  "  CICEL  K" 

But  out  on  this  alkali  desert,  a  hunting  a  crazy  wife, 
Was    ra'ly   as    on-satis-factory    as    any  thing   in    my 
life. 

"  Cicely !    Cicely  !    Cicely ! "   I    called,  and   I   held  my 

breath ; 
And  "  Cicely  ! ''  came  frpm  the  canyon,  —  and  all  was 

as  still  as  death. 
And  "  Cicely  !  Cicely  !   Cicely ! "  came  from  the  rocks 

below; 
And  jest  but  a  whisper  of  "  Cicely ! "  down  from  them 

peaks  of  snow. 

I    ain't  what   you   call   religious ;    but   I  jest   looked 

up  to  the  sky, 
And  —  this  'yer's  to  what  I'm  coming,  and  maybe  ye 

think  I  lie : 


'' cicely:'  79 

But    up    away  to   the    east'ard,    yaller    and   big    and 

far, 
I   saw    of   a   suddent   rising    the    singlerist    kind    of 

star. 

Big  and  yaller  and  dancing,  it  seemed  to  beckon   to 

me ; 
Yaller    and    big    and    dancing,    such    as    you    never 

see : 
Big    and  yaller  and    dancing,  —  I   never  saw  such   a 

star; 
And  I  thought  of  them   sharps   in   the   Bible,  and   I 

went  for  it  then  and  thar. 

Over  the  brush  and  bowlders  I  stumbled  and  pushed 

ahead: 
Keeping  the  star  afore  me,  I  went  whareter  it  led. 


80  "  CICEL  F." 

It  might   hev   been   for   an   liour,  when,  suddent  and 

peart  and  nigh, 
Out  of  the  yearth  afore  me  thar  riz  up  a  baby's  cry. 

Listen  !    thar's   the    same   music ;   but  her  hmgs  they 

are  stronger  now 
Than   the   day  I   packed   her  and  her  motlier,  —  I'm 

derned  if  I  jest  know  how. 
But  the  doctor  kem  the  next  minit ;    and  the  joke  o' 

the  whole  thing  is, 
That   Cis   never  knew  what  happened  from  that  very 

night  to  this  ! 

But  Cicely  says  you're  a  poet ;  and  maybe  you  might, 

some  day, 
Jest   sling   her  a   rhyme  'bout   a  baby  that  was  born 

in  a  curious  way. 


''CICELY."  81 

A.nd   see  what    she   says;   and,  old   fellow,  when   you 

speak  of  the  star,  don't  tell 
As    how    'twas    the     doctor's    lantern,  —  for     maybe 

'twon't  sound  so  well. 


PEITELOPE. 


SIMPSON'S  BAR,  1858. 


QIO  you've  kem  'yer  agen, 

And  one  answer  won't  do? 
Well,  of  all  the  derned  men 
That  I've  struck,  it  is  you. 
0  Sal !  'yer's  that  derned  fool  from  Simpson's,  cavori 
in'  round  'yer  in  the  dew. 

Kem  in,  ef  you  will. 

Thar,  —  quit !     Take  a  cheer. 
Not  that;  you  can't  fill 

Them  theer  cushings  this  year,  — 

82 


That's  his  gun  on  the  rack: 


PENELOPE.  83 

For  that  cheer  was  my  old  man's,  Joe   Simpson,  and 
they  don't  make  such  men  about  'yer. 

He  was  tall,  was  my  Jack, 
And  as  strong  as  a  tree. 
Thar's  his  gun  on  the  rack, — 
Jest  you  heft  it,  and  see. 
And  yoii.  come  a  courtin'  his  widder.     Lord !  where 
can  that  critter,  Sal,  be ! 

You'd  fill  my  Jack's  place? 
And  a  man  of  your  size,— 
With  no  baird  to  his  face, 
Nor  a  snap  to  his  eyes, — 
And  nary —    Shol  tharl  I  ^yas  foolin',  —  I  was, 
Joe,  for  sartain, — don't  rise. 


84  PENELOPE. 

Sit  down.     Law  !  why,  sho ! 

I'm  as  weak  as  a  gal, 
Sal!     Don't  you  go,  Joe, 
Or  I'll  faint,  —  sure,  I  shall. 
Sit  down,  —  anywheer,  where  you  like,  Joe, — in  that 
cheer,  if  you  choose,  —  Lord,  where's  Sal ! 


Lord,  wheri$  Sal  f" 


PLAIN    LA]^GUAGE    FEOM    TRUTHFUL 
JAMES. 

TABLE  MOUNTAIN,  1870. 

"TTTHICH  I  wish  to  remark,  — 

And  my  language  is  plain, — 
That  for  ways  that  are  dark, 

And  for  tricks  that  are  vain, 
The  heathen  Chinee  is  peculiar, — 

Which  the  same  I  would  rise  to  explain. 

Ah  Sin  was  his  name. 

And  I  shall  not  deny 
Li  regard  to  the  same 

What  that  name  might  imply; 

8  85 


86  PLAIN  LANGUAGE 

But  his  smile  it  was  pensive  and  childlike, 
As  I  frequent  rema  ked  to  Bill  Nye. 

It  was  August  the  third; 

And  quite  soft  was  the  skies: 
■   Which  it  might  be  inferred 

That  Ah  Sin  was  likewise ; 
Yet  he  played  it  that  day  upon  William 

And  me  in  a  way  I  despise. 

Which  we  had  a  small  game, 

And  Ah  Sin  took  a  hand : 
It  was  euchre.     The  same 

He  did  not  understand ; 
But  he  smiled  as  he  sat  by  the  table, 

With  the  smile  that  was  childlike  and  bland. 


*•  Ah  StH  was  hu  name:' 


FROM    TRU'JHFUL  JAMES.  87 

Yet  the  cards  they  were  stocked 

In  a  way  that  I  grieve, 
And  my  feelings  were  shocked 

At   the  state  of  Kye's  sleeve : 
Which  was  stuffed  full  of  aces  and  bowers, 

And  the  same  with  intent  to  deceive. 

But  the  hands  that  were  played 

By  that  heathen  Chinee, 
And  the  points  that  he  made, 

Were  quite  frightful  to  see,  — 
Till  at  last  he  put  down  a  right  bower, 

Which  the  same  Nye  had  dealt  unto  me. 

Then  I  looked  up  at  Nye, 
And  he  gazed  upon  mej 


88  ~  PLAIN  LANGUAGE 

And  he  rose  with  a  sigh, 

And  said,  "  Can  this  be  ? 
We  are  ruined  by  Chinese  cheap  labor;" 

And  he  went  for  that  heathen  Chinee. 

In  the  scene  that  ensued 

I  did  not  take  a  hand; 
But  the  floor  it  was  strewed 

Like  the  leaves  on  the  strand 
With  the  cards  that  Ah  Sin  had  been  hiding, 

In  the  game  "he  did  not  understand." 

In  his  sleeves,  which  were  long. 

He  had  twenty-four  packs,  — 
Which  was  coming  it  strong. 

Yet  I  state  but  the  facts ; 


He  toentfor  that  htathen  Chinee,** 


FROM  TRUTHFUL   JAMES.  89 

And  we  found  on  his  nails,  which  were  taper, 
What  is  frequent  in  tapers,  —  that's  wax. 

Which  is  why  I  remark, 

And  my  language  is  plain, 
That  for  ways  that  are  dark, 

And  for  tricks  that  are  vain. 
The  heathen  Chinee  is  peculiar, — 

Which  the  same  I  am  free  to  maintain. 


THE  SOCIETY  UPON  THE   STANISLAUS. 

"T     RESIDE  at   Table    Mountain,  and    my  name    is 

Truthful  James. 
I  am  not  up  to  small  deceit,  or  any  sinful  games; 
And  I'll  tell  in  simple  language  what    I    know  about 

the  row 
That  broke  up  our  society  upon  the  Stanislow. 

But  first  I  would  remark,  that  it  is  not  a  proper  plan 
For  any  scientific  gent  to  whale  his  fellow-man, 
And,    if    a    member    don't    agree    with    his    peculiai 

whim, 
To  lay  for  that   same  member  for  to  "put    a   head" 

on  him. 

90 


"  Brmvn  he  read  a  paper ^ 


THE  SOCIETY  UPON   THE  STANISLAUS.       91 

Now,    nothing    could    be   finer   or  more    beautiful    to 

see 
Than  the  first  six  months'  proceedings  of  that  same 

society, 
Till  Brown  of  Calaveras  brought  a  lot  of  fossil  bones 
That  he  found  within  a  tunnel  near  the  tenement  of 

Jones. 

Then  Brown  he  read  a  paper,  and  he  reconstructed 
there. 

From  those  same  bones,  an  animal  that  was  ex- 
tremely rare ; 

And  Jones  then  asked  the  Chair  for  a  suspension  of 
the  rules, 

Till  he  could  prove  that  those  same  bones  was  one 
of  his  lost  mules. 


92        THE  SOCJETY  UPON  7 HE  STANISLAUS. 

Then   Brown   he   smiled   a   bitter  smile,  and   said  he 

was  at  fault. 
It  seemed  he  had  been  trespassing  on  Jones's  family 

vault : 
He  was  a  most  sarcastic  man,  this  quiet  Mr.  Brown ; 
And   on   several   occasions    he   had    cleaned    out    the 

town. 
Now,  I  hold  it  is  not  decent  for  a  scientific  gent 
To  say  another  is  an  ass,  —  at  least,  to  all  intent : 
Nor  should  the  individual  who  happens  to  be  meant 
Reply  by  heaving  rocks  at  him  to  any  great  extent. 

Then  Abner  Dean  of  Angel's  raised  a  point  of  order 
—  when 

A  chunk  of  old  red  sandstone  took  him  in  the  abdo- 
men; 


THE  SOCIETY  UPON  THE  STANISLAUS.       93 

And  he    smaed  a    kind    of   sickly  smile,  and    curled 

up  on  the  floor, 
And  the    subsequent    proceedings  interested    him   no 

more. 


For,  in  less  time  than  I  write  it,  every  member  did 

engage 
In    a    warfare    with    the    remnants    of   a    palaeozoic 

age; 
And    the    way    they  heaved    those    fossils    in    their 

anger  was  a  sin, 
Till   the   skull   of  an   old   mammoth  caved  the  head 

of  Thompson  in. 
And    this   is  aU    I   have   to   say   of   these    improper 

games : 


94        THE  SOCIETY  UPON  THE  STANISLAUS. 

For    I    live    at    Table    Mountain,    and    my    name    is 

Truthful  James; 
And    I've    told    in    simple    language    what    I    know 

about  the  row 
That  broke  up  our  society  upon  the  Stanislow. 


POEMS 


FROM      i860      TO      1868. 


JOHN    BUENS    OF    GETTYSBURG. 

"T    pAVE  you  heard  the  story  that  gossips  tell 

Of  Burns  of  Gettysburg ?  — No ?     Ah,  well! 
Brief  is  the  glory  that  hero  earns, 
Briefer  the  story  of  poor  John  Bums : 
He  was  the  fellow  who  won  renown,  — 
The  only  man  who  didn't  back  down 
When  the  rebels  rode  through  his  native  town, 
But  held  his  own  in  the  fight  next  day, 
When  all  his  townsfolk  ran  away. 
That  was  in  July,  sixty-three, 
The  very  day  that  General  Lee, 
Flower  of  Southern  chivalry, 
Baffled  and  beaten,  backward  reeled 


98  JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG. 

From  a  stubborn  Meade  and  a  barren  field. 
I  miglit  tell  how,  but  the  day  before, 
John  Burns  stood  at  his  cottage  door. 
Looking  down  the  village  street, 
Where,  in  the  shade  of  his  peaceful  vine, 
He  heard  the  low  of  his  gathered  kine, 
And  felt  their  breath  with  incense  sweet; 
Or  I  might  say,  when  the  sunset  burned 
The  old  farm  gable,  he  thought  it  turned 
The  milk,  that  fell  in  a  babbling  flood 
Into  the  milk-pail,  red  as  blood! 
Or  how  he  fancied  the  hum  of  bees 
Were  bullets  buzzing  among  the  trees. 
But  all  such  fanciful  thoughts  as  these 
Were  strange  to  a  practical  man  like  Burns, 
Wlio  minded  only  his  own  concerns, 


JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG.  99 

Troubled  no  more  by  fancies  fine 

Than  one  of  his  cahn-eyed,  long-tailed  kine, — 

Quite  old-fashioned  and  matter-of-fact, 

Slow  to  argue,  but  quick  to  act. 

That  was  the  reason,  as  some  folk  say, 

He  fought  80  well  on  that  terrible  day. 

And  it  was  terrible.     On  the  right 
Baged  for  hours  the  heady  fight. 
Thundered  the  battery's  double  bass, — 
Difficult  music  for  men  to  face; 
While  on  the  left  —  where  now  the  graves 
Undulate  like  the  living  waves 
That  all  that  day  unceasing  swept 
Up  to  the  pits  the  rebels  kept  — 
Bound  shot  ploughed  the  upland  glades, 

0 


100  JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG. 

Sown  with  bullets,  reaped  with  blades; 

Shattered  fences  here  and  there 

Tossed  their  splinters  in  the  air; 

The  very  trees  were  stripped  and  bare; 

The  barns  that  once  held  yellow  grain 

Were  heaped  with  harvests  of  the  slain; 

The  cattle  bellowed  on  the  plain, 

The  turkeys  screamed  with  might  and  main, 

And  brooding  barn-fowl  left  their  rest 

With  strange  shells  bursting  in  each  nest. 

Just  where  the  tide  of  battle  turns, 
Erect  and  lonely  stood  old  John  Bums. 
How  do  you  think  the  man  was  dressed? 
He  wore  an  ancient  long  buff  vest, 
Yellow  as  saffron,  —  but  his  best; 


JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG.  101 

And  buttoned  over  his  manly  breast 

Was  a  bright  blue  coat,  with  a  rolling  collar, 

^\jid  large  gilt  buttons,  —  size  of  a  dollar,  — 

With  tails  that  the  country-folk  called  "swaller." 

He  wore  a  broad-brimmed,  bell-crowned  hat. 

White  as  the  locks  on  which  it  sat. 

Never  had  such  a  sight  been  seen 

For  forty  years  on  the  village  green, 

Since  old  John  Burns  was  a  country  beau, 

And  went  to  the  "quiltings"  long  ago. 

Close  at  his  elbows  all  that  day, 
Veterans  of  the  Peninsula, 
Sunburnt  and  bearded,  charged  away; 
And  striplings,  downy  of  lip  and  chin, — 
Clerks  that  the  Home  Guard  mustered  in, — 


102  JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG. 

Glanced,  as  they  passed,  at  the  hat  he  wore, 

Then  at  the  rifle  his  right  hand  bore; 

And  hailed  him,  from  out  their  youthful  lore. 

With  scraps  of  a  slangy  repertoire: 

"  How  are  you,  White  Hat ! "    "  Put  her  through ! 

"Your  head's  level,"  and  "Bully  for  you!" 

Called  him  "Daddy," — begged  he'd  disclose 

The  name  of  the  tailor  who  made  his  clothes. 

And  what  was  the  value  he  set  on  those; 

While  Burns,  unmindful  of  jeer  and  scoff. 

Stood  there  picking  the  rebels  off, — 

With  his  long  brown  rifle,  and  bell-crown  hat, 

And  the  swallow-tails  they  were  laughing  at. 

'Twas  but  a  moment,  for  that  respect 

Which  clothes  all  courage  their  voices  checked ; 


JOHN  BURNS  Ob   GETTYSBURG.  103 

And  something  the  wildest  could  understand 
Spake  in  the  old  man's  strong  right  hand; 
And  his  corded  throat,  and  the  lurking  frown 
Of  his  eyebrows  under  his  old  bell-crown; 
Until,  as  they  gazed,  there  crept  an  awe 
Through  the  ranks  in  whispers,  and  some  men  saw, 
In  the  antique  vestments  and  long  white  hair. 
The  Past  of  the  Nation  in  battle  there; 
And  some  of  the  soldiers  since  declare 
That  the  gleam  of  his  old  white  hat  afar, 
Like  the  crested  plume  of  the  brave  Navarre, 
That  day  was  their  oriflamme  of  war. 

So  raged  the  battle.     You  know  the  rest: 
How  the  rebels,  beaten,  and  backward  pressed, 
Broke  at  the  final  charge,  and  ran. 


104  JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG. 

At  wHcli  John  Burns  —  a  practical  man  — 
Shouldered  his  rifle,  unbent  his  brows, 
And  then  went  back  to  his  bees  and  cows. 

That  is  the  story  of  old  John  Bums; 
This  is  the  moral  the  reader  learns: 
In  fighting  the  battle,  the  question's  whether 
You'll  show  a  hat  that's  white,  or  a  feather! 


THE    TALE    OF    A    PONY. 

""VTAME  of  my  heroine,  simply  "Kose;" 

Surname,  tolerable  only  in  prose; 
Hahitatf  Paris,  —  that  is  where 
She  resided  for  change  of  airj 
JEtdt  XX. ;  complexion  fair, 
Rich,  good-looking,  and  debonnaire, 
Smarter  than  Jersey-lightning — There! 
That's  her  photograph,  done  with  care. 

In  Paris,  whatev.er  they  do  besides, 

EyE&Y   lady   IK   FULL   DRESS    HIDES  I 

106 


106  THE   TALE   OF  A  PONY. 

Moire  antiques  you  never  meet 
Sweeping  the  filth  of  a  dirty  street; 
But  every  woman's  claim  to  ton 

Depends  upon 
The  team  she  drives,  whether  phaeton, 
Landau,  or  britzka.     Hence  it's  plain 
That  Rose,  who  was  of  her  toilet  vain. 
Should  have  a  team  that  ought  to  be    • 
Equal  to  any  in  all  Paris! 

"Bring  forth  the  horse!"  —  The  commissaire 
Bowed,  and  brought  Miss  Bose  a  pair 
Leading  an  equipage  rich  and  rare: 
"Why  doth  that  lovely  lady  stare?" 
Why?     The  tail  of  the  off  gray  mare 
Is  bobbed, — by  all  that's  good  and  fair! 


THE    TALE  OF  A   PONY.  \{)\ 

Like  the  shaving-brushes  that  soldiers  wear, 
Scarcely  showing  as  much  back-hair 
As  Tarn  O'Shanter's  « Meg/'  — and  there 
Lord  knows  she'd  little  enough  to  spare. 


That  stare  and  frown  the  Frenchman  knew, 

But  did,  —  as  well-bred  Frenchmen  do: 

Raised  his  shoulders  above  his  crown, 

Joined  his  thumbs,  with  the  fingers  down, 

And  said,  *'Ah,'  Heaven!" — then,  "Mademoiselle, 

Delay  one  minute,  and  all  is  welll" 

He  went;  returned;  by  what  good  chance 

These  things  are  managed  so  well  in  France 

I  cannot  say, — but  he  made  the  sale, 

And  the  bob-tailed  mare  had  a  flowing  tail. 


108  THE    TALE   OF  A   PONY. 

All  that  is  false  in  this  world  below 

Betrays  itself  in  a  love  of  show; 

Indignant  Nature  liides  her  lash 

In  the  purple -black  of  a  dyed  mustache; 

The  shallowest  fop  will  trip  in  French, 

The  would-be  critic  will  misquote  Trench; 

In  short;  you're  always  sure  to  detect 

A  sham  in  the  things  folks  most  affect; 

Bean-pods  are  noisiest  when  dry, 

And  you  always  wink  with  your  weakest  eye 

And  that's  the  reason  the  old  gray  mare 

Forever  had  her  tail  in  the  air, 

With  flourishes  beyond  compare, 

Though  every  whisk 

Incurred  the  risk 
Of  leaving  that  sensitive  region  bare : 


i 


THE    TALE  OF  A  PONY.  109 

She  did  some  things  that  you  couldn't  but  feel 
She  wouldn't  have  done  had  her  tail  been  real. 

Champs  Elysees :  Time,  past  five ; 
There  go  the  carriages,  —  look  alive  ! 
Every  thing  that  man  can  drive, 
Or  his  inventive  skill  contrive, — 
Yankee  buggy  or  English  "chay," 
Dog-cart,  droschky,  and  smart  coup^, 
A  desobligeante  quite  bulky 
(French  idea  of  a  Yankee  sulky)  \ 
Band  in  the  distance,  playing  a  march ; 
Footmen  standing  stiff  as  starch; 
Savans,  lorettes,  deputies,  Arch- 
Bishops,  and  there  together  range 
<S(m«-lieutenant3  and  cen^-gardes  (strange 

10 


110  THE    TALE   OF  A   PONY. 

Way  these  soldier-chaps  make  change), 
Mixed  with  black-eyed  Polish  dames, 
With  unpronounceable,  awful  names; 
Laces  tremble,  and  ribbons  flout. 
Coachmen  wrangle,  and  gendarmes  shout, — 
Bless  us  !  what  is  the  row  about  ? 
All !  here  comes  E-osey's  new  turn-out ! 
Smart !     You  bet  your  life  'twas  that ! 
Nifty  !  (short  for  magnificat)  ; 
Mulberry  panels,  —  heraldic  spread,  — 
Ebony  wheels  picked  out  with  red, 
And  two  gray  mares  that  were  thoroughbred. 
No  wonder  that  every  dandy's  head 
Was  turned  by  the  turn-out;    and  'twas  said 
That  Caskowhisky  (friend  of  the  Czar). 
A  very  good  wJiip  (as  Russians  are), 


THE    TALE   OF  A  PONY.  HI 

Was  tied  to  Eosey's  triumphal  car, 

Entranced,  the  reader  will  understand, 

By  "ribbons"  that  graced  her  head  and  hand. 

Alas !  the  hour  you  think  would  crown 

Your  highest  wishes  should  let  you  down ! 

Or  Fate  should  turn,  by  your  own  mischance. 

Your  victor's  car  to  an  ambulance ; 

From  cloudless  heavens  her  lightnings  glance, 

(And  these  things  happen,  even  in  France ;) 

And  so  Miss  Rose,  as  she  trotted  by,  — 

The  cynosure  of  every  eye,  — 

Saw  to  her  horror  the  off  mare  shy, — 

Flourish  her  tail  so  exceeding  high, 

That,  disregarding  the  closest  tie, 

And  without  giving  a  reason  why. 


112  THE    TALE   OF  A   PONY, 

She  flung  that  tail  so  free  and  frisky 
Off  in  the  face  of  Caskowhisky ! 

Excuses,  blushes,  smiles  :  in  fine, 
End  of  the  pony's  tail,  and  mine  ! 


I 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  PADRE  JUNIPERO. 


rriHIS  is  the  tale  that  the  Chronicle 

Tells  of  the  wonderful  miracle 
Wrought  by  the  pious  Padre  Serro, 
The  very  reverend  Junipero. 


The  heathen  stood  on  his  ancient  mound, 

Looking  over  the  desert  bound 

Into  the  distant,  hazy  south, 

Over  the  dusty  and  broad  champaign, 

Where,  with  many  a  gaping  mouth, 

And  fissure  cracked  by  the  fervid  drouth, 

For  seven  months  had  the  wasted  plain 

10*  113 


114       THE  MIRACLE   OF  PADRE  JUNIPERO, 

Known  no  moisture  of  dew  or  rain. 

The  wells  were  empty,  and  choked  with  sand; 

The  rivers  had  perished  from  the  land; 

Only  the  sea-fogs,  to  and  fro, 

Slipped  like  ghosts  of  the  streams  below. 

Deep  in  its  bed  lay  the  river's  bones, 

Bleaching  in  pebbles  and  milk-white  stones, 

And  tracked  o'er  the  desert  faint  and  far, 

Its  ribs  shone  bright  on  each  sandy  bar. 

Thus  they  stood  as  the  sun  went  down 

Over  the  foot-hills  bare  and  brown; 

Thus  they  looked  to  the  South,  wherefrom 

The  pale-face  medicine-man  should  come. 

Kot  in  anger,  or  in  strife. 

But  to  bring  —  so  ran  the  tale  — 


THE  MIRACLE   OF  PADRE  JUNIPERO.       115 

The  welcome  springs  of  eternal  life, 
The  living  waters  that  should  not  fail 

Said  one,  "He  will  come  like  Manitou, 
Unseen,  unheard,  in  the  falling  dew." 
Said  another,  "  He  will  come  full  soon 
Out  of  the  round-faced,  watery  moon." 
And  another  said,  "  He  is  here  ! "  and  lo,  — 
Faltering,  staggering,  feeble,  and  slow,  — 
Out  from  the  desert's  blinding  heat 
The  Padre  dropped  at  the  heathen's  feet. 
They  stood  and  gazed  for  a  little  space 
Down  on  his  pallid  and  careworn  face, 
And  a  smile  of  scorn  went  round  the  band 
As  they  touched  alternate  with  foot  and  hand 
This  mortal  waif,  that  the  outer  space 


116        THE  MIRACLE  OF  PADRE   yUNTPERO. 

Of  dim  mysterious  sky  and  sand 
Flung  with  so  little  of  Christian  grace 
Down  on  their  barren,  sterile  strand. 

Said  one  to  him :  "  It  seems  thy  god 
Is  a  very  pitiful  kind  of  god ; 
He  could  not  shield  thine  aching  eyes 
From  the  blowing  desert  sands  that  rise, 
Nor  turn  aside  from  thy  old  gray  head 
The  glittering  blade  that  is  brandished 
By  the  sun  he  set  in  the  heavens  high ; 
He  could  not  moisten  thy  lips  when  dry ; 
The  desert  fire  is  in  thy  brain ; 
Thy  limbs  are  racked  with  the  fever-pain : 
If  this  be  the  grace  he  showeth  thee 
Who  art  his  servant,  what  may  we, 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  PADRE  JUNIPERO.        117 

Strange  to  his  ways  and  his  commands, 
Seek  at  his  unforgiving  hands  ?  " 

"Drink  but  this  cup/'  said  the  Padre,  straight, 
"  And  thou  shalt  know  whose  mercy  bore 
These  aching  limbs  to  your  heathen  door, 
And  purged  my  soul  of  its  gross  estate. 
Drink  in  His  name,  and  thou  shalt  see 
The  hidden  depths  of  this  mystery. 
Drink ! "  and  he  held  the  cup.     One  blow 
From  the  heathen  dashed  to  the  ground  below 
The  sacred  cup  that  the  Padre  bore ; 
And  the  thirsty  soil  drank  the  precious  store 
Of  sacramental  and  holy  wine, 
That  emblem  and  consecrated  sign 
And  blessed  symbol  of  blood  divine. 


\ 


118        THE  MIRACLE   OF  PADRE  JUNIPERO, 

Then,  says  the  legend  (and  they  who  doubt 

The  same  as  heretics  be  accurst), 

From  the  dry  and  feverish  soil  leaped  out 

A  living  fountain;  a  well-spring  burst 

Over  the  dusty  and  broad  champaign, 

Over  the  sandy  and  sterile  plain, 

Till  the  granite  ribs  and  the  milk-white  stones 

That  lay  in  the  valley — the  scattered  bones  — 

Moved  in  the  river  and  lived  again ! 

Such  was  the  wonderful  miracle 
Wrought  by  the  cup  of  wine  that  fell 
From  the  hands  of  the  pious  Padre  Serro, 
The  very  reverend  Junipero. 


A^  AECTIC  VISIOK. 

"TXT'HERE  the  short-legged  Esquimaux 

Waddle  in  the  ice  and  snow, 
And  the  playful  polar  bear 
Nips  the  hunter  unaware; 
Where  by  day  they  track  the  ermine, 
And  by  night  another  vermin,  — 
Segment  of  the  frigid  zone, 
Where  the  temperature  alone 
Warms  on  St.  Elias'  cone; 
Polar  dock,  where  Nature  slips 
From  the  ways  her  icy  ships; 
Land  of  fox  and  deer  and  sable, 
Shore  end  of  our  western  cable,  — 

119 


120  ^N  ARCTIC   VISION. 

Let  the  news  that  flying  goes 
Thrill  through  all  your  Arctic  floes, 
And  reverberate  the  boast 
From  the  cliff's  of  Beechey's  coast, 
Till  the  tidings,  circling  round 
Every  bay  of  Norton  Sound, 
Throw  the  vocal  tide-wave  back 
To  the  isles  of  Kodiac. 
Let  the  stately  polar  bears 
Waltz  around  the  pole  in  pairs, 
And  the  walrus,  in  his  glee. 
Bare  his  tusk  of  ivory ; 
While  the  bold  sea  unicorn 
Calmly  takes  an  extra  horn ; 
All  ye  polar  skies,  reveal  your 
Very  rarest  of  parhelia  j 


AN  ARCTIC   VISION.  121 

Trip  it,  all  ye  merry  dancers, 
In  the  airiest  of  lancers ; 
Slide,  ye  solemn  glaciers,  slide, 
One  inch  farther  to  the  tide, 
Nor  in  rash  precipitation 
Upset  Tyndal's  calculation. 
Know  you  not  what  fate  awaits  yon 
Or  to  whom  the  future  mates  you^ 
All  ye  icebergs,  make  salaam,  — 
You  belong  to  Unde  Sam  I 

On  the  spot  where  Eugene  Sue 

Led  his  wretched  Wandering  Jew 

Stands  a  form  whose  features  strike 

Euss  and  Esquimaux  alike. 

He  it  is  whom  Skalds  of  old 
11 


9 


122  AN  ARCTIC   VISION. 

In  their  Eunic  rhymes  foretold  j 
Lean  of  flank  and  lank  of  jaw, 
See  the  real  Northern  Thor ! 
See  the  awful  Yankee  leering 
Just  across  the  Straits  of  Behring ; 
On  the  drifted  snow,  too  plain, 
Sinks  his  fresh  tobacco  stain 
Just  beside  the  deep  inden- 
Tation  of  his  Number  10. 

Leaning  on  his  icy  hammer 
Stands  the  hero  of  this  drama. 
And  above  the  wild-duck's  clamor. 
In  his  own  peculiar  grammar, 
With  its  linguistic  disguises, 
Lo,  the  Arctic  prologue  rises : 


AN  ARCTIC   VISION,  123 

«Wa%  I  reckon  'tain't  so  bad, 

Seein'  ez  'twas  all  ttey  had. 

True,  the  Springs  are  rather  late, 

And  early  Falls  predominate  *, 

But  the  ice  crop's  pretty  sure, 

And  the  air  is  kind  o'  pure; 

'Tain't  so  very  mean  a  trade. 

When  the  land  is  all  surveyed. 

There's  a  right  smart  chance  for  fur-chase 

All  along  this  recent  purchase, 

And,  unless  the  stories  fail. 

Every  fish  from  cod  to  whale; 

Bocks  too ;  mebbe  quartz ;  let 's  see,  — 

'Twould  be  strange  if  there  should  be, — 

Seems  I've  heerd  such  stories  told: 

Eh  !  —  why,  bless  us,  —  yes,  it's  gold  ! " 


124  AN  ARCTIC   VISION. 

While  the  blows  are  falling  thick 
Prom  his  California  pick, 
You  may  recognize  the  Thor 
Of  the  vision  that  I  saw, — 
Freed  from  legendary  glamour, 
See  the  real  magician's  hammer. 


TO  THE  PLIOCENE   SKULL. 

A  GEOLOGICAL  ADDRESS. 

"  QJ  PEAK,  0  man,  less  recent !  Fragmentary  fossil ! 

Primal  pioneer  of  pliocene  formation, 
Hid  in  lowest  drifts  below  the  earliest  stratum 
Of  volcanic  tufa! 

"  Older  than  the  beasts,  the  oldest  Palseotherium ; 
Older  than  the  trees,  the  oldest  Cryptogami ; 
Older  than  the  hills,  those  infantile  eruptions 
Of  earth's  epidermis! 

"  Eo  —  Mio  —  Plio  —  whatsoe'er  the  *  cene  '  was 
That  those  vacant  sockets    filled  with  awe  and  won- 
der,— 

II*  126 


126  TO   THE  PLIOCENE  SKULL, 

Whether  shores  Devonian  or  Silurian  beaches, — 
Tell  us  thy  strange  story! 

"  Or  has  the  professor  slightly  antedated 
By  some  thousand  years  thy  advent  on  this  planet, 
Giving  thee  an  air  that's  somewhat  better  fitted 
For  cold-blooded  creatures? 

"Wert  thou  true  spectator  of  that  mighty  forest 
When  above  thy  head  the  stately  Sigillaria 
Reared  its  columned  trunks  in  that  remote  and  distant 
Carboniferous  epoch  ? 

"Tell  us  of  that  scene,  —  the  dim  and  watery  wood- 
land 
Songless,  silent,  hushed,  with  never  bird  or  insect 


TO   THE  PLIOCENE  SKULL.  127 

Veiled  with  spreading  fronds   and   screened  with    tall 
club-mosses, 
Lycopodiacea,  — 

"  When  beside  thee  walked  the  solemn  Plesiosanrus, 
And  around  thee  crept  the  festive  Ichthyosaurus, 
While  from  time  to  time  above  thee  flew  and  circled 
Cheerful  Pterodactyls. 

"Tell  us  of  thy  food, — those  half-marine  refections, 
Crinoids  on  the  shell,  and  Brachipods  au  naturel, — 
Cuttle-fish  to  which  the  pieuvre  of  Victor  Hugo 
Seems  a  periwinkle. 

"  Speak,  thou  awful  vestige  of  the  Earth's  creation,  — 
Solitary  fragment  of  remains  organic  I 


128  10    THE   PLIOCENE  SKULL. 

Tell  the  wondrous  secret  of  thy  past   existence, — 
Speak  !   thou  oldest  primate  ! " 

Even  as  I  gazed,  a  thrill  of  the  maxilla, 
And  a  lateral  movement  of  the  condyloid  process. 
With  post-pliocene  sounds  of  healthy  mastication. 
Ground  the  teeth  together. 

And  from  that  imperfect  dental  exhibition, 
Stained  with  expressed  juices  of  the  weed  Nicotian, 
Came  these  hollow  accents,  blent  with  softer  murmurs 
Of  expectoration; 

"  Which  my  name  is  Bowers,  and  my  crust  was  busted 
Falling  down  a  shaft  in  Calaveras  County; 
But  I'd  take  it  kindly  if  you'd  send  the  pieces 
Home  to  old  Missouri ! " 


THE  BALLAD   OF  THE  ElMEU. 

/^H,  say,  have  you  seen  at  the  Willows  so  green, 

So  charming  and  rurally  true,  — 
A  singular  bird,  with  a  manner  absurd, 
Which  they  call  the  Australian  Emeu? 

Have  you 
Ever  seen  this  Australian  Emeu? 

It  trots  all  around  with  its  head  on  the  ground. 
Or  erects  it  quite  out  of  your  view ; 

And  the  ladies  all  cry,  when  its  figure  they  spy, 
Oh,  what  a  sweet  pretty  Emeu ! 

Oh!  do 
Just  look  at  that  lovely  Emeu! 

129 


130  THE  BALLAD   OF  THE  EMEU. 

One  day  to  this  spot,  when  the  weather  was  hot, 

Came  Matilda  Hortense  Fortescue ; 
And  beside  her  there  came  a  youth  of  high  name,  - 

Augustus  Florell  Montague : 

The  two 

Both  loved  that  wild,  foreign  Emeu. 

With  two  loaves  of  bread  then  they  fed  it,   instead 

Of  the  flesh  of  the  white  cockatoo, 
Which  once  was  its  food  in  that  wild  neighborhood 

Where  ranges  the  sweet  Kangaroo; 

That,  too. 

Is  the  game  for  the  famous  Emeu ! 

Old  saws  and  gimlets  but  its  appetite  whets. 

Like  the  world-fjamous  bark  of  Peru : 
There  's  nothing  so  hard  that  the  bird  will  discar.l 


THE  BALLAD   OF  THE  EMEU.  131 

And  nothing  its  taste  will  eschew, 

That  you 
Can  give  that  long-legged  Emeu  I 

The  time  slipped  away  in  this  innocent  play, 
When  up  jumped  the  bold  Montague : 

"Where's  that  specimen  pin  that  I  gayly  did  win 
In  raffle,  and  gave  unto  you,  \ 

Fortescue  ?  " 
No  word  spoke  the  guilty  Emeu! 

"  Quick  !  tell  me  his  name  whom  thou  gavest  that  sumo, 
Ere  these  hands  in  thy  blood  I  imbrue ! " 

"Nay,  dearest,"  she  cried,  as  she  clung  to  his  side, 
"I'm  innocent  as  that  Emeu!" 

"Adieu!" 
He  replied,  "Miss  M.  H.  Fortescue!" 


132  THE  BALLAD   OF  THE  EMEU. 

Down  she  dropped  at  his  feet,  all  as  white  as  a  sheet. 

As  wildly  he  fled  from  her  view: 
He  thought  'twas  her  sin ;  for  he  knew  not  the  pin 

Had  been  gobbled  up  by  the  Emeu; 

All  through 

The  voracity  of  that  Emeu! 


THE    AGED    STRANGER. 

AN  INCIDENT  OF  THE  WAR. 

"T"   WAS  with  Grant"  — the  stranger  said. 

Said  the  farmer,  "  Say  no  more, 
But  rest  thee  here  at  my  cottage  porch, 
For  thy  feet  are  weary  and  sore." 

-I  was  with  Grant"  —  the  stranger  said. 

Said  the  farmer,  "  Nay,  no  more : 
I  prithee  sit  at  my  frugal  board. 

And  eat  of  my  humble  store. 

"  How  fares  my  boy,  —  my  soldier  boy, 
Of  the  old  Ninth  Army  Corps  ? 

U  133 


134  THE  AGED   STRANGER. 

I  warrant  he  bore  him  gallantly 

In  the  smoke  and  the  battle's  roar ! " 

"  I  know  him  not/'  said  the  aged  man ; 

"  And,  as  I  remarked  before, 
I  was  with  Grant "  —  "  Nay,  nay,  I  know," 

Said  the  farmer :  "  say  no  more. 

"  He  fell  in  battle,  —  I  see,  alas  ! 

Thou'dst  smooth  these  tidings  o'er,  — 
Nay :  speak  the  truth,  whatever  it  be, 

Though  it  rend  my  bosom's  core. 

"  How  fell  he,  —  with  his  face  to  the  foe, 

Upholding  the  flag  he  bore  ? 
Oh !  say  not  that  my  boy  disgraced 

The  uniform  that  he  wore ! " 


THE  AGED  STRANGER.  135 

"I  cannot  tell,"  said  the  aged  man, 
"And  should  have  remarked,  before, 

That  I  was  with  Grant,  —  in  Illinois,  — 
Some  three  years  before  the  war." 

Then  the  farmer  spake  him  never  a  word. 

But  beat  with  his  fist  full  sore 
That  aged  man,  who  had  worked  for  Grant 

Some  three  years  before  the  war. 


"HOW  AEE  YOU,   SAKITAEY?'' 

"F^OWN  the  picket-guarded  lane, 
E-olled  the  comfort-laden  wain, 

Cheered  by  shouts  that  shook  the  plain, 
Soldier-like  and  merry : 

Phrases  such  as  camps  may  teach, 

Sabre-cuts  of  Saxon  speech, 

Such  as  "  Bully  !  "     "  Them's  the  peach  !  " 
"  Wade  in.  Sanitary  !  " 

Right  and  left  the  caissons  drew, 
As  the  car  went  lumbering  through, 
Quick  succeeding  in  review 
Squadrons  military ; 

136 


''HOW  ARE   YOU,  SANITARY V  137 

Sunburnt  men  with  beards  like  frieze, 
Smootli-faced  boys,  and  cries  like  these,  — 
"U.  S.  San.  Com."     "That's  the  cheese!" 
"  Pass  in,  Sanitary  !  " 

In  such  cheer  it  struggled  on 
Till  the  battle  front  was  won ; 
Then  the  car,  its  journey  done, 

Lo  I   was  stationary  ; 
And  where  bullets  whistling  fly, 
Came  the  sadder,  fainter  cry, 
"  Help  us,  brothers,*  ere  we  die,  — 

Save  us,  Sanitary!" 

Such  the  work.     The  phantom  flies, 
Wrapped  in  battle-clouds  that  rise ; 


138  '' HOW  ARE   YOU,  SANITARY V 

But  the  brave  —  whose  dying  eyes, 

Veiled  and  visionary, 
See  the  jasper  gates  swung  wide. 
See  the  parted  throng  outside  — 
Hears  the  voice  to  those  who  ride: 
"  Pass  in,  Sanitary  !  " 


THE  REVEILLE. 

T    TARK !   I  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands, 

And  of  armed  men  the  hum ; 
Lo !  a  nation's  hosts  have  gathered 
Bound  'the  quick  alarming  drum,  — 
Saying,  "  Come, 
Freemen,  come ! 
Ere  your  heritage   be  wasted,'*   said  the  quick  alarm- 
ing drum. 

"  Let  me  of  my  heart  take  coimsel : 

War  is  not  of  Life  the  sum; 
Who  shall  stay  and  reap  the  harvest 

When  the  autumn  days  shall  come?" 

139 


140  THE  REVEILLE, 

But  the  drum 
Echoed,  "  Come  ! 
Death  shall  reap  the  braver  harvest/'  said  the  solemn- 
sounding  drum. 

"  But  when  won  the  coming  battle, 

What  of  profit  springs  therefrom  ? 
What  if  conquest,  subjugation, 
Even  greater  ills  become  ?  " 
But  the  drum 
Answered,  "  Come ! 
You  must  do  the  sum  to  prove  it,"  said  the  Yankee- 
answering  drum. 

"What  if,  'mid  the  cannons'  thunder. 
Whistling  shot  and  bursting  bomb, 


THE  RkVEILLE.  141 

When  my  brothers  fall  around  me, 

Should  my  heart  grow  cold  and  numb?'' 
But  the  drum 
Answered,  "  Come ! 
Better  there   in   death   united,   than   in   life   a   recre- 
ant, —  come ! " 

Thus  they  answered,  —  hoping,  fearing. 

Some  in  faith,  and  doubting  some. 
Till  a  trumpet-voice  proclaiming, 
Said,  "My  chosen  people,  come!" 
Then  the  drum, 
Lo !   was  dumb. 
For   the   great    heart  of   the    nation,   throbbing,    an- 
swered, "  Lord,  we  come  I " 


OUR  PRIVILEGE. 

"VTOT  ours  where  battle  smoke  npcurls, 

And  battle  dews  lie  wet, 
To  meet  the  charge  that  treason  hurls 
By  sword  and  bayonet. 

Not  ours  to  guide  the  fatal  scythe 

The  fleshless  reaper  wields  : 
The  harvest  moon  looks  calmly  down 

Upon  our  peaceful  fields. 

The  long  grass  dimples  on  the  hill, 

The  pines  sing  by  the  sea; 
And  Plenty,  from  her  golden  horn, 

Is  pouring  far  and  free. 

142 


OUR  PRIVILEGE.  143 

0  brothers  by  the  farther  sea! 

Think  still  our  faith  is  warm : 
The  same  bright  flag  above  us  waves 

That  swathed  our  baby  form. 

The  same  red  blood  that  dyes  your  fields 

Here  throbs  in  patriot  pride; 
The  blood  that  flowed  when  Lander  fell, 

And  Baker's  crimson  tide. 

And  thus  apart  our  hearts  keep  time 

With  every  pulse  ye  feel; 
And  Mercy's  ringing  gold  shall  chime 

With  Valor's  clashing  steel 


RELIEVING    GUARD. 

T.  S.  K.    OBIIT  MARCH  4,  1864. 

/^AME  the  relie£     "What,  sentry,  ho! 

How  passed  the  night  through  thy  long  waking? 
"  Cold,  cheerless,  dark,  —  as  may  befit 
The  hour  before  the  dawn  is  breaking." 

"  No  sight  ?   no  sound  ?  "     "  No  ;   nothing  save 
The  plover  from  the  marshes  calling, 
And  in  yon  Western  sky,  about 
An  hour  ago,  a  Star  was  falling." 

"  A  star  ?     There's  nothing  strange  in  that." 
"No,  nothing;  but,  above  the  thicket, 
Somehow  it  seemed  to  me  that  God 
Somewliere  had  just  relieved  a  picket." 

144 


PARODIES. 


A    GEOLOGICAL    MADRIGAL. 

AFTER   HERRICK. 

T    HAVE  found  out  a  gift  for  my  fair; 

I  know  where  the  fossils  abound, 
Where  the  footprints  of  Aves  declare 

The  birds  that  once  walked  on  the  ground; 
Oh  !   come,  and  —  in  technical  speech  — 

We'll  walk  this  Devonian  shore. 
Or  on  some  Silurian  beach 

We'll  wander,  my  love,  evermore. 

I  will  show  thee  the  sinuous  track 
By  the  slow-moving  annelid  made, 

147 


148  A   GEOLOGICAL  MADRIGAL. 

Or  the  trilobite,  that,  farther  back, 

In  the  old  Potsdam  sandstone  was  laid. 

Thou  shalt  see,  in  his  Jurassic  tomb. 
The  plesiosaurus  embalmed; 

In  his  oolitic  prime  and  his  bloom,  — 
Iguanodon,  safe  and  unharmed ! 


You  wished  —  I  remember  it  well. 

And  I  loved  you  the  more  for  that  wish 
For  a  perfect  cystedian  shell 

And  a  whole  holocephalic  fish. 
And  oh !   if  Earth's  strata  contains 

In  its  lowest  Silurian  drift. 
Or  palaeozoic  remains. 

The  same,  —  'tis  your  lover's  free  gift!' 


A   GEOLOGICAL  MADRIGAL,  149 

Then  come,  love,  and  never  say  nay, 

But  calm  all  your  maidenly  fears: 
We'll  note,  love,  in  one  summer's  day 

The  record  of  millions  of  years ; 
And  though  the  Darwinian  plan 

Your  sensitive  feelings  may  shock. 
We'll  find  the  beginning  of  man, — 

Our  fossil  ancestors  in  rock  I 

18* 


THE    WILLOWS. 

AFTER    EDGAR   A.    POE. 

rr^HE  skies  they  were  ashen  and  soher, 

The  streets  they  were  dirty  and  drear; 
It  was  night  in  the  month  of  October, 

Of  my  most  immemorial  year; 
Like  the  skies  I  was  perfectly  sober, 

As  I  stopped  at  the  mansion  of  Shear,  — 
At  the  Nightingale,  —  perfectly  sober, 

And  the  willowy  woodland,  down  here. 

Here  once  in  an  alley  Titanic 

Of  ten-pins,  —  I  roamed  with  my  soul,  — 
Of  ten-pins,  —  with  Mary,  my  soul ; 

They  were  days  when  my  heart  was  volcanic, 

160 


THE    WILLOWS.  151 

And  impelled  me  to  frequently  roll, 

And  made  me  resistlessly  roll, 
Till  my  ten-strikes  created  a  panic 

In  the  realms  of  the  Boreal  pole. 
Till  my  ten-strikes  created  a  panic 

With  the  monkey  atop  of  his  pole. 

I  repeat,  I  was  perfectly  sober, 

But  my  thoughts  they  were  palsied  and  sear,  — 

My  thoughts  were  decidedly  queer; 
For  I  knew  not  the  month  was  October, 

And  I  marked  not  the  night  of  the  year : 
I  forgot  that  sweet  morceau  of  Auber 

That  the  band  oft  performed  down  here; 
And  I  mixed  the  sweet  music  of  Auber 

With  the  Nightingale^s  music  by  Shear. 


152  THE    WILLOWS. 

And  now  as  the  night  was  senescent, 
And  star-dials  pointed  to  morn, 
And  car-drivers  hinted  of  mom, 

At  the  end  of  the  path  a  liquescent 
And  bihulous  lustre  was  bom : 

'Twas  made  by  the  bar-keeper  present, 
Who  mixed  a  duplicate  horn,  — 

His  two  hands  describing  a  crescent 
Distinct  with  a  duplicate  horn. 

And  I  said:    "This  looks  perfectly  regal; 
For  it's  warm,  and  I  know  I  feel  dry, — 
I  am  confident  that  I  feel  dry. 

We  have  come  past  the  emeu  and  eagle. 
And  watched  the  gay  monkey  on  high ; 

Let  us  drink  to  the  emeu  and  eagle,  — 


7 HE    WILLOWS.  153 

To  the  swan  and  the  monkey  on  high; 

To  the  eagle  and  monkey  on  high; 
For  this  barkeeper  will  not  inveigle,— 

Bully  boy  with  the  vitreous  eye; 
He  surely  would  never  inveigle, — 

Sweet  youth  with  the  crystalline  eye." 


But  Mary,  uplifting  her  finger, 

Said,  "Sadly  this  bar  I  mistrust, — 
I  fear  that  this  bar  does  not  trust. 

Oh,  hasten!     Oh,  let  us  not  linger! 
Oh,  fly! — let  us  fly,  —  ere  we  must!" 

In  terror  she  cried,  letting  sink  her 
Parasol  till  it  trailed  in  the  dust, — 

In  agony  sobbed,  letting  sink  her 


154  THE    WILLOWS, 

Parasol  till  it  trailed  in  the  dust,— 
Till  it  sorrowfully  trailed  in  the  dust. 

Then  I  pacified  Mary,  and  kissed  her, 
And  tempted  her  into  the  room, 
And  conquered  her  scruples  and  gloom; 

And  we  passed  to  the  end  of  the  vista, 

But  were  stopped  hy  the  warning  of  doom,- 
By  some  words  that  were  warning  of  doom. 

And  I  said,  "What  is  written,  sweet  sister. 
At  the  opposite  end  of  the  room  ?  " 

She  sohbed,  as  she  answered,  "All  liquors 
Must  be  paid  for  ere  leaving  the  room." 

Then  my  heart  it  grew  ashen  and  sober, 
As  the  streets  were  deserted  and  drear, — 


THE    WILLOWS.  155 

For  my  pockets  were  empty  and  drear; 
And  I  cried,  "It  was  surely  October, 

On  this  very  night  of  last  year, 

That  I  journeyed  —  I  journeyed  down  here,  — 

That  I  brought  a  fair  maiden  down  here, 

On  this  night  of  all  nights  in  the  year. 

Ah !  to  me  that  inscription  is  clear : 
Well  I  know  now,  I'm  perfectly  sober, 

Why  no  longer  they  credit  me  here, — 
Well  I  know  now  that  music  of  Auber, 

And  this  Nightingale,  kept  by  one  Shear. 


NORTH  BEACH. 

AFTER    SPENSER. 

nr   0 !  where  the  castle  of  bold  PfeifFer  throws 
Its  sullen  shadow  on  the  rolling  ride,  — 
No  more  the  home  where  joy  and  wealth  repose, 
But  now  where  wassailers  in  cells  abide, — 
See  yon  long  quay  that  stretches  far  and  wide. 
Well  known  to  citizens  as  wharf  of  Meiggs: 
There  each  sweet  sabbath  walks  in  maiden  pride 
The  pensive  Margaret,  and  brave  Pat,  whose  legs 
Incased  in  broadcloth  oft  keep  time  with  Peg's. 

Here  cometh  oft  the  tender  nursery-maid, 
While  in  her  ear  her  love  his  tale  doth  pour : 

156 


NORTH  BEACH.  157 

Meantime  her  infant  doth  her  charge  evade, 

And  rambleth  sagely  on  the  sandy  shore, 

Till  the  sly  sea-crab,  low  in  ambush  laid, 

Seizeth  his  leg,  and  biteth  him  full  sore. 

Ah,  me!  what  soimds  the  shuddering  echoes  bore, 

When  his  small  treble  mixed  with  Ocean's  roar. 

Hard  by  there  stands  an  ancient  hostelrie. 

And  at  its  side  a  garden,  where  the  bear. 

The  stealthy  catamount,  and  coon  agree 

To  work  deceit  on  all  who  gather  there; 

And  when  Augusta  —  that  unconscious  fair  — 

With  nuts  and  apples  plieth  Bruin  firee, 

Lo  I  the  green  parrot  claweth  her  back  hair, 

And  the  gray  monkey  grabbeth  firuits  that  she 

On  her  gay  bonnet  wears,  and  laugheth  loud  in  glee  ! 

14 


THE  LOST  TAILS  OF 

MILETUS. 

^nriaH  on  the  Thracian  hills, 
lows  of  clover, 

half  hid  in  the  bil- 

Thyme,  and  the  asphodel  blooms, 

and  lulled  by  Pac- 

tolian  streamlet. 

She  of  Miletus  lay;  and  beside  her  an  aged  satyr 

Scratched  his  ear  with  his  hoof, 

and  playfully  mum- 

bled  his  chestnuts. 

Vainly  the  Msenid  and  the  Bassarid  gambolled  about 

her, 

The   free-eyed   Bacchante    sang. 

and   Pan  —  the    re- 

nowned,  the  accomplished - 

158 

-" 

THE  LOST  TAILS  OF  MILETUS.  159 

Executed  his  difficult  solo.  In  vain  were  their  gam- 
bols and  dances: 

High  o'er  the  Thracian  hills  rose  the  voice  of  the 
shepherdess,  wailing. 

"  Ai  I    for  the  fleecy  flocks,  —  the    meek-nosed,    the 

passionless  faces; 
Ai!    for  the   tallow-scented,   the    straight-tailed,    the 

high-stepping ; 
Ai!   for  the  timid   glance,  which  is  that  which  the 

rustic,  sagacious. 
Applies  to  him  who  loves   but   may  not  declare  his 

passion  I " 

Her  then  Zeus  answered  slow,  "0  daughter  of  song 
and  sorrow,— 


160  THE  LOST  TAILS  OF  MILETUS, 

Hapless  tender  of  sheep,  —  arise  from  thy  long  lam- 
entation ! 

Since   thou   canst   not   trust   fate,  nor   behave  as  be 
comes  a  Greek  maiden. 

Look  and  behold  thy  sheep."  —  And  lo !  they  returned 
to  her  tailless ! 


EAST    AND    WEST    POEMS, 


PART    I 


A  GREYPORT  LEGEND. 

(1797.) 

rr^HEY  ran  through  the  streets  of  the  seaport  town ; 

They  peered  from  the  decks  of  the  ships  that  lay  : 
The  cold  sea-fog  that  came  whitening  down 
Was  never  as  cold  or  white  as  they. 

"  Ho,  Starbuck  and  Pinckney  and  Tenterden ! 

Run  for  your  shallops,  gather  your  men, 
Scatter  your  boats  on  the  lower  bay." 

Good  cause  for  fear  I    In  the  thick  midday 

The  hulk  that  lay  by  the  rotting  pier, 

Iff 


166  A    GREYPORT  LEGEND. 

Filled  with  the  children  in  happy  play, 
Parted'  its  moorings,  and  drifted  clear,  — 

Drifted  clear  beyond  the  reach  or  call,  — 
Thirteen  children  they  were  in  all,  — 
All  adrift  in  the  lower  bay ! 

Said  a  hard-faced  skipper,  "God  help  us  all! 

She  will  not  float  till  the  turning  tide  ! " 

Said  his  wife,   "My  darling  will  hear  my  call. 

Whether  in  sea  or  heaven  she  bide." 

And  she  lifted  a  quavering  voice  and  high. 
Wild  and  strange  as  a  sea-bird's  cry, 

Till  they  shuddered  and  wondered  at  her  side. 

The  fog  drove  down  on  each  laboring  crew, 
Veiled  each  from  each  and  the  sky  and  shore: 


A   GREYPORT  LEGEND.  167 

There  was  not  a  sound  but  the  breath  they  drew, 
And  the  lap  of  water  and  creak  of  oar; 

And  they  felt  the  breath  of  the  downs,  fresh  blown 
O'er  leagues  of  clover  and  cold  gray  stone. 
But  not  from  the  lips  that  had  gone  before. 

They  come  no  more.     But  they  tell  the  tale. 

That,  when  fogs  are  thick  on  the  harbor  reef. 

The  mackerel  fishers  shorten  sail ; 

For  the  signal  they  know  will  bring  relief: 
For  the  voices  of  children,  still  at  play 
In  a  phantom  hulk  that  drifts  alway 

Through  channels  whose  waters  never  fail. 

It  is  but  a  foolish  shipnlan's  tale, 
A  theme  for  a  poet's  idle  page; 


168  ^    GREYPORT  LEGEND. 

But  still,  when  the  mists  of  doubt  prevail, 
And  we  lie  becalmed  by  the  shores  of  Age, 
We  hear  from  the  misty  troubled  shore 
The  voice  of  the  children  gone  before. 
Drawing  the  soul  to  its  anchorage. 


A  NEWPORT  ROMANCE. 

rr^HEY  say  that  she  died  of  a  broken  heart 

(I  tell  the  tale  as  'twas  told  to  me); 
But  her  spirit  lives,  and  her  soul  is  part 
Of  this  sad  old  house  by  the  sea. 

Her  lover  was  fickle  and  fine  and  Erench: 

It  was  nearly  a  hundred  years  ago 
When  he  sailed  away  firom  her  arms  — poor  wench ! 

With  the  Admiral  Rochambeau. 

I  marvel  much  what  periwigged  phrase 
Won  the  heart  of  this  sentimental  Quaker, 

14  160 


170  ^  NEWPORT  ROMANCE. 

At  wliat  golden-laced  speech  of  those  modisli  days 
She  listened  —  the  mischief  take  her ! 

But  she  kept  the  posies  of  mignonette 

That  he  gave;   and  ever  as  their  hloom  failed 

And  faded  (though  with  her  tears  still  wet) 
Her  youth  with  their  own  exhaled. 

Till  one  night,  when  the  sea-fog  wrapped  a  shroud 
Eound  spar  and  spire  and  tarn  and  tree, 

Her  soul  went  up  on  that  lifted  cloud 
From  this  sad  old  house  hy  the  sea. 

And  ever  since  then,  when  the  clock  strikes  two, 
She  walks  unbidden  from  room  to  room. 

And  the  air  is  filled  that  she  passes  through 
With  a  subtile,  sad  perfume. 


^:^^m 


A  NEWPORT  ROMANCE.  171 

The  delicate  odor  of  mignonette, 

The  ghost  of  a  dead  and  gone  bouquet, 

Is  all  that  tells  of  her  story ;   yet 
Could  she  think  of  a  sweeter  way? 


I  sit  in  the  sad  old  house  to-night, — 
Myself  a  ghost  from  a  farther  sea; 

And  I  trust  that  this  Quaker  woman  might. 
In  courtesy,  visit  me. 

For  the  laugh  is  fled  from  porch  and  lawn, 
And  the  bugle  died  from  the  fort  on  the  hill. 

And  the  twitter  of  girls  on  the  stairs  is  gone. 
And  the  grand  piano  is  still. 


172  A  NEWPORT  ROMANCE. 

Somewhere  in  the  darkness  a  clock  strikes  two; 

And  there  is  no  sound  in  the  sad  old  house, 
But  the  long  veranda  dripping  with  dew, 

And  in  the  wainscot  a  mouse. 

The  light  of  my  study-lamp  streams  out 
From  the  library  door,  but  has  gone  astray 

In  the  depths  of  the  darkened  hall.     Small  doubt 
But  the  Quakeress  knows  the  way. 

Was  it  the  trick  of  a  sense  o'erwrought 
With  outward  watching  and  inward  fret? 

But  I  swear  that  the  air  just  now  was  fraught 
With  the  odor  of  mignonette ! 

I  open  the  window,  and  seem  almost  — 
So  still  lies  the  ocean  —  to  hear  the  beat 


A  NEWPORT  ROMANCE.  173 

Of  its  Great  Gulf  artery  off  the  coast, 
And  to  bask  in  its  tropic  heat. 

In  my  neighbor's  windows  the  gas-lights  flare, 
As  the  dancers  swing  in  a  waltz  of  Strauss ; 

And  I  wonder  now  could  I  fit  that  air 
To  the  song  of  this  sad  old  house. 

And  no  odor  of  mignonette  there  is 

But  the  breath  of  mom  on  the  dewy  lawn ; 

And  mayhap  from  causes  as  slight  as  this 
The  quaint  old  legend  is  bom. 

But  the  soul  of  that  subtile,  sad  perfume. 
As  the  spiced  embalmings,  they  say,  outlast 

The  mummy  laid  in  his  rocky  tomb. 
Awakens  my  buried  past. 

15* 


174  A  NEWPORT  ROMANCE. 

And  I  think  of  the  passion  that  shook  my  youth, 
Of  its  aimless  loves  and  its  idle  pains, 

And  am  thankful  now  for  the  certain  truth 
That  only  the  sweet  remains. 

And  I  hear  no  rustle  of  stiff  brocade, 
And  I  see  no  face  at  my  library  door ; 

For  now  that  the  ghosts  of  my  heart  are  laid, 
She  is  viewless  forevermore. 

But  whether  she  came  as  a  faint  perfume. 
Or  whether  a  spirit  in  stole  of  white, 

I  feel,  as  I  pass  from  the  darkened  room. 
She  has  been  with  my  soul  to-night ! 


THE  HAWK'S  NEST. 


(SIEREAS.) 


"TXT^E    checked    our  pace,  —  the   red    road   sharply 
rounding ; 

We  heard  the  troubled  flow 
Of  the  dark  olive  depths  of  pines,  resounding 

A  thousand  feet  below. 

Above  the  tumult  of  the  canon  lifted, 

The  gray  hawk  breathless  hung; 
Or  on  the  hill  a  winged  shadow  drifted 

Where  fiirze  and  thorn-bush  clung; 

176 


176  THE  HAWK'S  NEST. 

Or  where  half-waj  the  mountain  side  was  furrowed 

With  many  a  seam  and  scar ; 
Or  some  abandoned  tunnel  dimly  burrowed,  — 

A  mole-hill  seen  so  far. 

We  looked  in  silence  down  across  the  distant 

Unfathomable  reach  : 
A  silence  broken  by  the  guide's  consistent 

And  realistic  speech. 

"  Walker  of  Murphy's  blew  a  hole  through  Peters 

For  tellin'  him  he  liedj 
Then  up  and  dusted  out  of  South  Hornitos 

Across  the  long  Divide. 

"We  ran  him  out  of  Strong's,  and  up  through  Eden, 
And  'cross  the  ford  below  j 


THE  HAWK'S  NEST.  I77 

And  up  this  canon  (Peters'  brother  leadin', 
And  me  and  Clark  and  Joe). 

"He  fou't  us  game:  somehow,  I  disremember 

Jest  how  the  thing  kem  round ; 
Some  say  'twas  waddin',  some  a  scattered  ember 

From  fires  on  the  ground. 

"But  in  one  minute  all  the  hill  below  him 

Was  jest  one  sheet  of  flame ; 
Guardin'  the  crest,  Sam  Clark  and  I  called  to  him. 

And,  —  well,  the  dog  was  game  ! 

"  He  made  no  sign :  the  fires  of  hell  were  round  him. 

The  pit  of  hell  below. 
We  sat  and  waited,  but  never  found  him ; 

And  then  we  turned  to  go. 


178  THE  HAWK'S  NEST. 

"And   then  —  you    see    that    rock    that's    grown    so 
bristly 

With  chaparral  and  tan  — 
Suthin'  crep'  out :  it  might  hev  been  a  grizzly, 

It  might  hev  been  a  man; 

"Suthin'    that    howled,   and    gnashed    its  teeth,   and 
shouted 

In  smoke  and  dust  and  flame ; 
Suthin'  that  sprang  into  the  depths  about  it, 

Grizzly  or  man,  —  but  game  ! 

"That's  all.     Well,  yes,  it  does  look  rather  risky, 

And  kinder  makes  one  queer 
And  dizzy  looking  down.     A  drop  of  whiskey 

Ain't  a  bad  thing  right  here!" 


IN  THE  MISSION  GAEDEN. 
(1865.) 

FATHER  FELIPE. 

T  SPEAK  not  the  English  well,  but  Pachita 

She  speak  for  me;  is  it  not  so,  my  Pancha? 
Eh,  little  rogue?     Come,  salute  me  the  stranger 
Americano. 

Sir,  in  my  country  we  say,  "Where  the  heart  is, 
There  live  the   speech."     Ah  I   you   not   understand  ? 

Sol 
Pardon  an  old  man,  —  what  you  call  "ol  fogy,"  — 
Padre  Felipe! 

170 


180  IN-  THE  MISSION  GARDEN 

Old,  Senor,  old!  just  so  old  as  the  Mission, 
"^ou  see  that  pear-tree?    How  old  you  think,  Seiior? 
Fifteen  year  ?     Twenty  ?    Ah,  Sefior,  just  fifty 
Gone  since  I  plant  him! 


You  like  the  wine?     It  is  some  at  the  Mission, 
Made  from  the  grape  of  the  year  Eighteen  Hundred 
All  the  same  time  when  the  earthquake  he  come  to 
San  Juan  Bautista. 


But  Pancha  is  twelve,  and  she  is  the  rose-tree; 
And  I  am  the  olive,  and  this  is  the  garden: 
And  Pancha  we  say;  but  her  name  is  Francisca, 
Same  like  her  mother. 


IN  THE  MIi>SION  GARDEN.  181 

Eh,  you  knew  her?    No?     All!  it  is  a  story; 
But  I  speak  not,  like  Pachita,  the  English  : 
So  ?    If  I  try,  you  will  sit  here  heside  me, 

And  shall  not  laugh,  eh? 


When  the  American  come  to  the  Mission, 
Many  arrive  at  the  house  of  Francisca : 
One, — he  was  fine  man,  —  he  buy  the  cattle 
Of  Jose  Castro. 


So!  he  came  much,  and  Francisca  she  saw  him: 
^Vnd  it  was  Love, — and  a  very  dry  season; 
And  the  pears  bake  on  the  tree,  —  and  the  rain  come. 
But  not  Francisca; 


182  IN-  THE  MISSION  GARDEN. 

Not  for  one  year;  and  one  night  I  have  walk  much 
Under  the  olive-tree,  when  comes  Francisca: 
Comes  to  me  here,  with  her  child,  this  Francisca, — 
Under  the  olive-tree. 


Sir,  it  was  sad ;  .  .  .  but  I  speak  not  the  English  ; 
So !  .  .  .  she    stay  here,    and   she   wait   for   her   hus- 
band: 
He  come  no  more,  and  she  sleep  on  the  hillside; 
There  stands  Pachita. 


Ah  I  there's  the  Angelus.     Will  you  not  enter? 
Or  shall  you  walk  in  the  garden  with  Pancha? 
Go,  little  rogue  —  stt  —  attend  to  the  stranger. 
Adios,  Senor. 


IN  THE  MISSION  GARDEN,  183 


PACHITA  (6r»««y). 


So,  he's  been  telling  that  yam  about  mother! 
Bless  you,  he  tells  it  to  every  stranger: 
Folks  about  yer  say  the  old  man's  my  father : 
What's  your  opinion? 


THE   OLD  MAJOE  EXPLAINS. 

(RE-UNION,  ARMY  OF  THE  POTOMAC, 

12TH  MAY, 

1871.) 

'•  'TXT'ELL   you   see,  the   fact   is 
know  as  I  can  come : 

Colonel, 

I  don't 

For  the  farm  is  not  half  planted,  and  there's 

work  to 

do  at  home; 

And    my  leg  is  getting  troublesome, 

—  it  laic 

me    up 

last  fall. 

xVnd    the    doctors,    they   have     cut 

and    hacked,    and 

never  found  the  balL 

184 

THE  OLD  MAJOR  EXPLAINS.                 185 

"And  then,  for  an  old 

man  like  me, 

it's  not  exactly 

right, 

This  kind  o'  playing  soldier  with  no 

enemy  in   sight. 

'The  Union/ — that  was  well  enough 

way  up  to  ^Q)Q> ; 

But  this  'Re-Union/  — 

maybe    now 

it's   mixed    with 

politics  ? 

"No?    Well,  you  understand  it  best 

;   but  then,  you 

see,  my  lad, 

Tm   deacon   now,    and 

some   might 

think    that    the 

example's  bad. 

And  week  from  next  is 

Conference.  . 

.  .  You  said  the 

12th  of  May? 

Why,  that's  the  day  we  broke  their  line  at  Spottsyl- 

van-i-a ! 

!«• 

186  THE  OLD  MAJOR  EXPLAINS. 

"Hot   work;    eh,  Colonel,  wasn't   it?     Ye   mind   that 

narrow  front : 
They   called   it   the    ^  Death- Angle ! '     WeU,  well,    my 

lad,  we  won't 
Fight  that  old  battle  over  now :    I  only  meant  to  say 
I  really  can't  engage  to  come  upon  the  12th  of  May. 


"How's  Thompson?     What!   will  he  be  there?  Well, 

now,  I  want  to  know !  ' 

The  first  man   in   the   rebel    works !   they    called  him 

'Swearing  Joe: ' 
A  wild  young  fellow,  sir,  I  fear  the    rascal    was;   but 

then  — 
Well,  short  of  heaven,  there  wa'n't  a  place  he  dursn't 

lead  his  men. 


THE  OLD  MAJOR  EXPLAINS,  187 

"  And  Dick,  you  say,  is  coming  too.     And  Billy  ?  ah  ! 

it's  true 
We  buried  him  at  Gettysburg:   I  mind  the  spot;   do 

you? 
A  little  field  below  the  hill, — it  must  be  green  this  May ; 
Perhaps  that's  why  the  fields  about  bring  him  to  me 

to-day. 

"  Well,  well,  excuse  me.  Colonel !  but  there  are  some 

things  that  drop 
The  tail-board  out  one's  feelings;  and  the   only  way's 

to  stop. 
So  they  want  to  see  the   old   man;   ah,    the   rascals! 

do  they,  eh? 
Well,  I've  business  down   in   Boston   about   the   12tli 

of  May." 


«  SEVENTY-NINE." 

MR.  INTEEVIEWER  INTERVIEWED. 

I  y^  NOW  me   next  time  when  you   see   me,  won't 

you,  old  smarty  ? 
Oh,    I   mean    you,    old   figger-head, — just    the    same 

party ! 
Take  out  your  pensivil,  d — n  you ;   sharpen  it,  do ! 
Any  complaints  to  make  ?     Lots  of  'em  —  one  of  'em's 

you. 


"  SE  VENTY-NIiYEr  189 

You !     who    are    you,    anyhow,    goin'    round   in   that 

sneakin'  way? 
Never  in  jail  before,  was  you,  old  blatherskite,  say  ? 
Look  at  it ;   don't  it  look  pooty  ?     Oh,    grin,    and  be 

d — d  to  you,  do! 
But,  if  I  had  you  this  side   o'.  that  gratin',    I'd  just 

make  it  lively  for  you.- 


How  did  I  get   in    here?     Well,    what  'ud   you    give 

to  know? 
'Twasn't    by  sneakin'  round    where   I   hadn't    no  call 

to  go: 
'Twasn't  by  hangin'  round  a  spyin'  unfortnet  men. 
Grin!    but   I'll    stop   your  jaw  if  ever  you    do   tliat 

agen. 


190  "  s£  venty-nine:' 

Why  don't  you   say  suthin',  blast  you  ?     Speak   your 

mind  if  you  dare. 
Ain't  I  a  bad  lot,  sonny  ?     Say  it,  and  call  it  square. 
Hain't  got  no  tongue,  hey,  hev  ye  ?     0  guard !  here's 

a  little  swell, 
A  cussin'  and    swearin'    and   yellin',    and    bribin'    me 

not  to  tell. 

There,  I  thought  that  'ud  fetch    ye.     And   you   want 

to  know  my  name? 
"  Seventy-nine  "  they  call  me ;   but  that  is  their  little 

game. 
For  I'm  werry  highly  connected,  as  a  gent,  sir,  can 

understand ; 
And  my  family  hold   their  heads   up   with   the   very 

furst  in  the  land. 


"  SE  VEN7  Y-NINE:'  10 1 

For  'twas  all,  sir,  a  put-up  job  on  a  pore  young  man 

like  me ; 
And  the  jury  was  bribed  a  puppos,  and   aftdrst   they 

couldn't  agree. 
And  I  sed  to  the  judge,  sez   I,  —  Oh,  grin !   it's  all 

right,  my  son! 
But  you're  a  werry  lively  young  pup,  and  you   ain't 

to  be  played  upon ! 

Wot's   that   you  got  —  tobacco  ?      I'm   cussed  but   I 

thought  'twas  a  tract. 
Thank  ye.      A    chap  t'other  day  —  now,  look'ee,  this 

is  a  fact, 
Slings  me  a  tract  on  the  evils  o'  keepin'  bad  company. 
As  if  all  the  saints  was  howlin'  to   stay  here  along's 

we. 


192  "  SE  VEN  7  Y-NINEr 

No :   I  hain't  no  complaints.      Stop,  yes ;  do   you  see 

that  chap,  — 
Him    standin'  over  there,  —  a  hidin'  his    eyes   in  his 

cap? 
Well,  that  man's  stumick  is  weak,  and  he  can't  stand 

the  pris'n  fare; 
For  the  coffee  is  just  half  beans,  and  the  sugar  ain't 

nowhere. 

Perhaps  it's  his  bringin'  up;    but  he   sickens   day  by 

day, 
And   he   doesn't   take   no   food,    and   I'm   seein'    him 

waste  away. 
And  it  isn't  the  thing  to  see ;  for,  whatever  he's  been 

and  done,  ' 

Starvation  isn't  the  plan  as  he's  to  be  saved  upon. 


"  SE  VENTY-NINEr  193 

For  he  cannot   rough   it  like  me;   and  he  hasn't  the 

stamps,  I  guess, 
To  huy  him  his  extry  grub  outside  o'  the  prison  mess. 
And  perhaps  if  a  gent  like  you,  with  whom  IVe  been 

sorter  free, 
Would  —  thank  you  I    But,  say,  look  here  I   Oh,  blast 

it,  don't  give  it  to  me  I 

Don't  you   give   it  to  me;   now,  don't  ye,  don't  ye, 

don't  I 
You  think  it's  a  put-up  job;  so  I'll  thank  ye,  sir,  if 

you  won't. 
But  hand  him  the  stamps  yourself:  why,  he  isn't  even 

my  pal; 
And  if  it's  a  comfort  to  you,  why,  I  don't  intend  that 

he  shall. 

IT 


HIS  ANSWER  TO  "HER  LETTER." 

REPORTED    BY   TRUTHFUL   JAMES. 

"OEING  asked  by  an  intimate  party, — 

Which  the  same  I  would  term  as  a  friend, 
Which  his  health  it  were  vain  to  call  hearty, 

Since  the  mind  to  deceit  it  might  lend; 
For  his  arm  it  was  broken  quite  recent, 

And  has  something  gone  wrong  with  his  lung, 
Which  is  why  it  is  proper  and  decent 

I  should  write  what  he  runs  off  his  tongue : 

194 


HIS  ANSWER    TO  ''HER  LETTER:'  195 

First,  he  says,  ^liss,  he's  read  through  your  letter 

To  the  end,  —  and  the  end  came  too  soon ; 
That  a  slight  illness  kept  him  your  debtor 

(Which  for  weeks  he  was  wild  as  a  loon); 
That  his  spirits  are  buoyant  as  yours  is ; 

That  with  you.  Miss,  he  challenges  Fate 
(Which  the  language  that  invalid  uses 

At  times  it  were  vain  to  relate). 


And  he  says  that  tne  mountains  are  fairer 
For  onc6  being  held  in  your  thought ; 

That  each  rock  holds  a  wealth  that  is  rarer 
Than  ever  by  gold-seeker  sought 

(Which  are  words  he  would  put  in  these  pages, 
By  a  party  not  given  to  guile; 


196  HIS  ANSWER    TO  ''HER  LETTERS 

Which  the  same  not,  at  date,  paying  wages, 
Might  produce  in  th6  sinful  a  smile). 

He  remembers  the  ball  at  the  Perry, 

And  the  ride,  and  the  gate,  and  the  vow. 
And  the  rose  that  you  gave  him,  —  that  very 

Same  rose  he  is  treasuring  now 
(Which  his  blanket  he's  kicked  on  his  trunk,  Miss, 

And  insists  on  his  legs  being  free ; 
And  hig  language  to  me  from  his  bunk.  Miss, 

Is  frequent  and  painful  and  free)  ; 

He  hopes  you  are  wearing  no  willows, 
But  are  happy  and  gay  all  the  while ; 

That  he  knows  (which  this  dodging  of  pillows 
Imparts  but  small  ease  to  the  style, 


HIS  ANSWER    70  ''HER  LETTERS  197 

And  the  same  you  will  pardon),  —  lie  knows,  Miss, 

That  though  parted  by  many  a  mile, 
Yet  were  he  lying  under  the  snows,  Miss, 

Thiey'd  melt  into  tears  at  your  smile. 

And  you'll  still  think  of  him  in  your  pleasures, 

In  your  brief  twilight  dreams  of  the  past; 
In  this  green  laurel-spray  that  he  treasures. 

It  was  plucked  where  your  parting  was  last; 
In  this  specimen,  —  but  a  small  trifle, — 

It  will  do  for  a  pin  for  your  shawl 
(Which  the  truth  not  to  wickedly  stifle 

Was  his  last  week's  "clean  up,"  —  and  his  alt). 

He's  asleep,  which  the  same  might  seem  strange.  Miss, 
Were  it  not  that  I  scorn  to  deny 


198  HIS  ANSWER    TO  ''HER  LETTER:' 

That  I  raised  his  last  dose,  for  a  change,  Miss, 

In  view  that  his  fever  was  high; 
But  he  lies  there  quite  peaceful  and  pensive. 

And  now,  my  respects,  Miss,  to  you; 
Which  my  language,  although  comprehensive, 

Might  seem  to  be  freedom,  —  it's  true. 


Which  I  have  a  small  favor  to  ask  you, 

As  concerns  a  bull-pup,  which  the  same, — 
If  the  duty  would  not  overtask  you, — 

You  would  please  to  procure  for  me,  game ; 
And  send  per  express  to  the  Flat,  Miss, 

Which  they  say  York  is  famed  for  the  breed, 
Which  though  words  of  deceit  may  be  that.  Miss, 

I'll  trust  to  your  taste.  Miss,  indeed. 


HIS  ANSWER   TO  ''HER  LETTER:'  199 

P.S. — Which  this  same  interfering 

Into  other  folks'  way  I  despise; 
Yet  if  it  so  be  I  was  hearing 

That  it's  just  empty  pockets  as  lies 
Betwixt  you  and  Joseph,  it  follers, 

That,  having  no  family  claims, 
Here's  my  pile;  which  it's  six  hundred  dollars, 

As  is  yours,  with  respects, 

Truthful  James. 


FURTHER  LANGUAGE  FROM  TRUTHFUL 
JAMES. 

(NYE'S  FORD,  STANISLAUS.) 

(1870.) 

npvO  I  sleep?  do  I  dream? 

Do  I  wonder  and  doubt? 
Are  things  what  they  seem? 
Or  is  visions  about  ? 
Is  our  civilization  a  failure  ? 
Or  is  the  Caucasian  played  out? 

Which  expressions  are  strong  j 
Yet  would  feebly  imply 


"  Art  things  wkai  Ihty  seem  ?  " 


FROM  TRUTHFUL  JAMES.  201 

Some  account  of  a  wrong  — 

Not  to  call  it  a  lie  — 

As  was  worked  off  on  William,  my  pardner, 

And  the  same  being  W.  Nye. 

He  came  down  to  the  Ford 

On  the  very  same  day 

Of  that  lottery  drawed 

By  those  sharps  at  the  Bay; 

And  he  says  to  me,  "Truthful,  how  goes  it?" 

I  replied,  "It  is  far,  far  from  gay; 

"  For  the  camp  has  gone  wild 
On  this  lottery  game, 
And  has  even  beguiled 
*Injin  Dick'  by  the  same." 


202  FROM  TRUTHFUL  JAMES. 

Which  said  Nye  to  me,  "  Injins  is  pizen : 
Do  you  know  what  his  number  is,  James  ?  " 

I  replied  "  7,2, 
9,8,4,  is  his  hand;" 
When  he  started,  and  drew 
Out  a  list,  which  he  scanned; 
Then  he  softly  went  for  his  revolver 
With  language  I  cannot  command. 

Then  I  said,  "William  Nye!" 

But  he  turned  upon  me, 

And  the  look  in  his  eye 

Was  quite  painful  to  see; 

And  he  says,  "  You  mistake  :  this  poor  Injin 

I  protects  from  such  sharps  as  you  be ! " 


1 


FROM  TRUTHFUL  JAMES.  203 

I  was  shocked  and  withdrew; 

But  I  grieve  to  relate, 

When  he  next  met  my  view 

Injin  Dick  was  his  mate, 

And  the  two  around  town  was  a-lying 

In  a  frightfully  dissolute  state. 

Which  the  war-dance  they  had 
Round  a  tree  at  the  Bend 
Was  a  sight  that  was  sad; 
And  it  seemed  that  the  end 
Would  not  justify  the  proceediugs, 
As  I  quiet  remarked  to  a  friend. 

For  that  Injin  he  fled 
The  next  day  to  his  band; 


204                     FROM  TRUTHFUL  JAMES. 

And  we  found  William  spread 

Very  loose  on  the  strand, 

With  a  peaceful-like  smile  on  his  features, 

And  a  dollar  greenback  in  his  hand; 

Which  the  same  when  rolled  out, 

We  observed  with  surprise, 

That  that  Injin,  no  doubt, 

H^d  believed  was  the  prize,  — 

Them  figures  in  red  in  the  comer, 

Which  the  number  of  notes  specifies. 

Was  it  guile,  or  a  dream? 

Is  it  Nye  that  I  doubt  ? 

FROM  TRUTHFUL  JAMES,  205 

Are  things  what  they  seem? 
Or  is  visions  about? 
Is  our  civilization  a  failure  ? 
Or  is  the  Caucasian  played  out? 

18 


THE    WONDEEFUL    SPKING    OF    SAN 
JOAQUIK 

/^^F  all  the  fountains  that  poets  sing,  — 
Crystal,  thermal,  or  mineral  spring; 
Ponce  de  Leon's  Fount  of  Youth ; 
Wells  with  bottoms  of  doubtful  truth ; 
In  short,  of  all  the  springs  of  Time 
That  ever  were  flowing  in  fact  or  rhyme. 
That  ever  were  tasted,  felt,  or  seen, — 
There  were  none  like  the  Spring  of  San  Joaquin. 

206 


THE  SPRING  OF  SAN  JOAQUIN  2()7 

Anno  Domini  Eigbteen-Seven, 

Father  Dominguez  (now  in  heaven, — 

Obiit  Eighteen  twenty-seven) 

Found  the  spring,  and  found  it,  too, 

By  his  mule's  miraculous  cast  of  a  shoe ; 

For  his  beast  —  a  descendant  of  Balaam's  ass  — 

Stopped  on  the  instant,  and  would  not  pass. 


The  Padre  thought  the  omen  good, 

And  bent  his  lips  to  the  trickling  flood; 

Then  —  as  the  chronicles  declare, 

On  the  honest  faith  of  a  true  believer  — 

His  cheeks,  though  wasted,  lank,  and  bare. 

Filled  like  a  withered  russet-pear 

In  the  vacuum  of  a  glass  receiver, 


208  THE  SPRING   OF  SAN  JOAQUIN. 

And  the  snows  that  seventy  winters  bring 
Melted  away  in  that  magic  spring. 

Such,  at  least,  was  the  wondrous  news 
The  Padre  brought  into  Santa  Cruz. 
The  Church,  of  course,  had  its  own  views 
Of  who  were  worthiest  to  use 
The  magic  spring;  but  the  prior  claim 
Fell  to  the  aged,  sick,  and  lame. 
Far  and  wide  the  people  came : 
Some  from  the  healthful  Aptos  creek 
Hastened  to  bring  their  helpless  sick; 
Even  the  fishers  of  rude  Sequel 
Suddenly  found  they  were  far  from  well; 
The  brawny  dwellers  of  San  Lorenzo 
Said,  in  fact,  they  had  never  been  so: 


THE  SPRING  OF  SAN  JOAQUIN.  209 

And  all  were  ailing,  —  strange  to  say, — 
From  Pescadero  to  Monterey. 

Over  the  mountain  they  poured  in 
With  leathern  bottles,  and  bags  of  skin ; 
Through  the  canons  a  motley  throng 
Trotted,  hobbled,  and  limped  along. 
The  fathers  gazed  at  the  moving  scene 
With  pious  joy  and  with  souls  serene  ; 
And  then  —  a  result  perhaps  foreseen  — 
They  laid  out  the  Mission  of  San  Joaquin. 

Not  in  the  eyes  of  Faith  alone 
The  good  effects  of  the  waters  shone ; 
But  skins  grew  rosy,  eyes  waxed  clear, 
Of  rough  vacquero  and  muleteer; 

18* 


210  THE  SPRING  OF  SAN  JOAQUIN 

Angular  forms  were  rounded  out, 

Limbs  grew  supple,  and  waists  grew  stout ; 

And  as  for  the  girls,  —  for  miles  about 

They  had  no  equal!     To  this  day, 

From  Pescadero  to  Monterey, 

You'll  still  find  eyes  in  which  are  seen 

The  liquid  graces  of  San  Joaquin. 


There  is  a  limit  to  human  bliss. 

And  the  Mission  of  San  Joaquin  had  this 

Kone  went  abroad  to  roam  or  stay, 

But  they  fell  sick  in  the  queerest  way,  — 

A  singular  maladie  du  pays, 

With  gastric  symptoms :  so^  they  spent 

Their  days  in  a  sensuous  content ; 


THE  SPRING  OF  SAN  JOAQUIN.  211 

Caring  little  for  things  unseen 
Beyond  their  bowers  of  living  green,  — 
Beyond  the  mountains  that  lay  between 
The  world  and  the  Mission  of  San  Joaquin. 

Winter  passed,  and  the  summer  came : 
The  trunks  of  madrono  all  aflame, 
Here  and  there  through  the  underwood 
Like  pillars  of  fire  starkly  stood. 
All  of  the  breezy  solitude 

Was  filled  with  the  spicing  of  pine  and  bay 
And  resinous  odors  mixed  and  blended, 

And  dim  and  ghost-like  far  away 
The  smoke  of  the  burning  woods  ascended. 
Then  of  a  sudden  the  mountains  swam, 
The  rivers  piled  their  floods  in  a  dam, 


212  THE  SPRING  OF  SAN  JOAQUIN. 

The  ridge  above  Los  Gatos  creek 

Arched  its  spine  in  a  feline  fashion ; 
The  forests  waltzied  till  they  grew  sick, 

And  Nature  shook  in  a  speechless  passion ; 
And,  swallowed  up  in  the  earthquake's  spleen. 
The  wonderful  Spring  of  Sdn  Joaquin 
Vanished,  and  never  more  was  seen ! 

Two  days  passed:  the  Mission  folk 

Out  of  their  rosy  dream  awoke. 

Some  of  them  looked  a  trifle  white ; 

But  that,  no  doubt,  was  from  earthquake  fright. 

Three  days :  there  was  sore  distress, 

Headache,  nausea,  giddiness. 

Eour  days :  faintings,  tenderness 

Of  the  mouth  and  fauces ;  and  in  less 


THE  SPRING  OF  SAN  JOAQUIN.  213 

Than  one  week,  —  here  the  story  closes ; 
We  won't  continue  the  prognosis,  — 
Enough  that  now  no  trace  is  seen 
Of  Spring  or  Mission  of  San  Joaquin. 

MOBAL. 

You  see  the  point?    Don't  be  too  quick 
To  break  bad  habits :  better  stick. 
Like  the  Mission  folk,  to  your  arsenic. 


ON  A  CONE  OF  THE  BIG  TREES. 

Sequoia  Gigantea. 

l^ROWN  foundling  of  the  Western  wood, 
Babe  of  primeval  wildernesses! 
Long  on  my  table  thou  hast  stood 

Encounters  strange  and  rude  caresses; 
Perchance  contented  with  thy  lot, 

Surroundings  new  and  curious  faces, 
As  though  ten  centuries  were  not 
Imprisoned  in  thy  shining  cases ! 

214 


ON  A   CONE   OF  THE  BIG   TREES.  215 

Thou  bring'st  me  back  the  halcyon  days 

Of  grateful  rest;  the  week  of  leisure, 
The  journey  lapped  in  autumn  haze, 

The  sweet  fatigue  that  seemed  a  pleasure, 
The  morning  ride,  the  noonday  halt. 

The  blazing  slopes,  the  red  dust  rising, 
And  then  —  the  dim,  brown,  columned  vault. 

With  its  cool,  damp,  sepulchral  spicing. 


Once  more  I  see  the  rocking  masts 
That  scrape  the  sky,  their  only  tenant 

The  jay-bird  that  in  frolic  casts 

From  some  high  yard  his  broad  blue  pennant. 

I  see  the  Indian  files  that  keep 
Their  places  in  the  dusty  heather, 


216  ON  A   CONE  OF  THE  BIG   TREES. 

Their  red  trunks  standing  ankle  deep 
In  moccasins  of  rusty  leather. 

I  see  all  this,  and  marvel  much 

That  thou,  sweet  woodland  waif,  ai-t  able 
To  keep  the  company  of  such 

As  throng  thy  friend's  —  the  poet's  —  table: 
The  latest  spawn  the  press  hath  cast,  —     ' 

The  "modern  Pope's,"  "the  later  Byron's," 
Why  e'en  the  best  may  not  outlast 

Thy  poor  relation,  —  SempervirGiis. 

Thy  sire  saw  the  light  that  shone 
On  Mohammed's  uplifted  crescent, 

On  many  a  royal  gilded  throne 

And  deed  forgotten  in  the  present ; 


ON  A   CONE  OF  THE  BIG   TREES.  217 

He  saw  the  age  of  sacred  trees 

And  Druid  groves  and  mystic  larches; 

And  saw  from  forest  domes  like  these 
The  builder  bring  his  Gothic  arches. 

And  must  thou,  foundling,  still  forego 

Thy  heritage  and  high  ambition, 
To  lie  full  lowly  and  full  low. 

Adjusted  to  thy  new  condition? 
Not  hidden  in  the  drifted  snows, 

But  under  ink-drops  idly  spattered. 
And  leaves  ephemeral  as  those 

That  on  thy  woodland  tomb  were  scattered. 

Yet  lie  thou  there,  0  friend  I  and  speak 
The  moral  of  thy  simple  story : 

19 


218  ON  A   CONE  OF  THE  BIG    TREES. 

Though  life  is  all  that  thou  dost  seek, 
And  age  alone  thy  crown  of  glory, — 

Kot  thine  the  only  germs  that  fail 
The  purpose  of  their  high  creation. 

If  their  poor  tenements  avail 

For  worldly  show  and  ostentation. 


A  SANITAEY  MESSAGE. 


TT    AST  night,  above  the  whistling  wind, 

I  heard  the  welcome  rain, — 
A  fusillade  upon  the  roof, 

A  tattoo  on  the  pane: 
The  key-hole  piped;  the  chimney-top 

A  warlike  trumpet  blew; 
Yet,  mingling  with  these  sounds  of  strife, 

A  softer  voice  stole  through. 

210 


220  A  SANITARY  MESSAGE. 

"  Give  thanks,  0  brothers  ! "  said  the  voice, 

"  That  He  who  sent  the  rains 
Hath  spared  your  fields  the  scarlet  dew 

That  drips  from  patriot  veins  : 
I've  seen  the  grass  on  Eastern  graves 

In  brighter  verdure  rise ; 
But,  oh !  the  rain  that  gave  it  life 

Sprang  first  from  human  eyes. 


"I  come  to  wash  away  no  stain 

Upon  your  wasted  lea; 
I  raise  no  banners,  save  the  ones 

The  forest  wave  to  me  : 
Upon  the  mountain  side,  where  Spring 

Her  farthest  picket  sets, 


A  SANITARY  MESSAGE.  221 

My  reveille  awakes  a  host 
Of  grassy  bayonets. 

"I  visit  every  humble  roof; 

I  mingle  with  the  low : 
Only  upon  the  highest  peaks 

My  blessings  fall  in  snow ; 
Until  in  tricklings  of  the  stream, 

And  drainings  of  the  lea, 
My  unspent  bounty  comes  at  last 

To  mingle  with  the  sea." 

And  thus  all  night,  above  the  wind, 

I  heard  the  welcome  rain, — 
A  fusillade  upon  the  roof, 

A  tattoo  on  the  pane : 


222  A  SANITARY  MESSAGE. 

The  key-hole  piped ;  the  chimney-top 

A  warlike  trumpet  blew ; 
But,  mingling  with  these  sounds  of  strife, 

This  hymn  of  peace  stole  through. 


' 

♦ 

THE 

COPPERHEAD. 

(1864.) 

r  1  '^HERE  is  peace 
head  sleeps, 

ill  the  swamp  where  the  Copper- 

Where     the    waters 

are    stagnant,    the    white    vapor 

creeps, 

"Where  the  musk  of 

magnolia  hangs  thick  in  the  air. 

And  the  lilies'  phylacteries  broaden  in  prayer; 

There  is   peace   in 

the   swamp,  though  the   quiet    is 

death, 

Though  the  mist  is 

miasm,  the  upas-tree's  breath, 

223 

224  THE   COPPERHEAD. 

Though  no  echo  awakes  to  the  cooing  of  doves, — 
There  is  peace :   yes,  the  peace  that  the  Copperhead 
loves ! 

Go  seek  him :   he  coils  in  the  ooze  and  the  drip 
Like  a  thong  idly  flung  from  the  slave-driver's  whip; 
But   heware   the    false    footstep,  —  the    stumble    that 

brings 
A  deadlier  lash  than  the  overseer  swings. 
Never  arrow  so  true,  never  bullet  so  dread, 
As  the  straight  steady  s-troke  of  that  hammer-shaped 

head; 
Whether   slave,   or   proud    planter,   who    braves    that 

dull  crest. 
Woe    to    him    who    shall    trouble    the     Copperhead's 
rest ! 


THE  COPPERHEAD.  225 

Then  why  waste  your  labors,  brave  hearts  and  strong 

men, 
In  tracking  a  trail  to  the  Copperhead's  den? 
Lay  your  axe  to  the  cypress,  hew  open  the  shade 
To  the  free  sky  and  sunshine  Jehovah  has  made ; 
Let  the  breeze  of  the  North  sweep  the  vapors  away, 
Till  the  stagnant  lake  ripples,  the  freed  waters  play; 
And  then  to  your  heel  can  you  righteously  doom 
The  Copperhead  bom  of  its  shadow  and  gloom  I 


ON  A  PEN  OF  THOMAS   STAER  KING. 


rr^HIS  is  the  reed  the  dead  musician  dropped, 

With  tuneful  magic  in  its  sheath  still  hidden; 
The  prompt  allegro  of  its  music  stopped, 
Its  melodies  unbidden. 


But  who  shall  finish  the  unfinished  strain. 
Or  wake  the  instrument  to  awe  and  wonder. 

And  bid  the  slender  barrel  breathe  again,  — 
An  organ-pipe  of  thunder? 


ON  A  PEN  OF  THOMAS  STARR  KING.        227 

His  pen !   what  humbler  memories  cling  about 

Its    golden     curves !    what    shapes     and    laughing 
graces 

Slipped  from  its  point,  when  his  full, heart  went  out 
In  smiles  and  courtly  phrases  t 

The  truth,  half  jesting,  half  in  earnest  flung ; 

The  word  of  cheer,  with  recognition  in  it ; 
The  note  of  alms,  whose  golden  speech  outrung 

The  golden  gift  within  it. 

But  all  in  vain  the  enchanter's-  wand  we  wave  : 
No  stroke  of  ours  recalls  his  magic  vision ; 

The  incantation  that  its  power  gave 
Sleeps  with  the  dead  magician. 


LONE    MOUNTAIN. 

(CEMETERY.   SAN   FRANCISCO.) 

npHIS  is  that  hill  of  awe 

That  Persian  Sindbad  saw, 


The  mount  magnetic; 


And  on  its  seaward  face, 
Scattered  along  its  base, 
The  wrecks  prophetic. 

Here  come  the  argosies 
Blown  by  each  idle  breeze, 
To  and  fro  shifting; 


LONE  MOUNTAIN.  Tl^ 

Yet  to  the  hill  of  Fate 
All  drawing,  soon  or  late,  — 
Day  hy  day  drifting  j  — 


Drifting  forever  here 
Barks  that  for  many  a  year 

Braved  wind  and  weather; 
Shallops  but  yesterday 
Launched  on  yon  shining  bay,  — 

Drawn  all  together. 


This  is  the  end  of  all: 
Sun  thyself  by  the  wall, 
0  poorer  Hindbad ! 

20 


230  LONE  MOUNTAIN. 

Envy  not  Sindbad^s  fame : 

Here  come  alike  the  same, 

Hindbad  and  Sindbad. 


CALIFORNIA'S    GREETING    TO    SEWARD. 

(1869.) 

"T'TTE  know  him  well :   no  need  of  praise 

Or  bonfire  from  the  windy  hill 
To  light  to  softer  paths  and  ways 
The  world-worn  man  we  honor  still; 

No  need  to  quote  those  truths  he  spoke 

That  burned  through  years  of  war  and  shame, 

While  History  carves  with  surer  stroke 
Across  our  map  his  noon-day  fame; 

231 


232       CALIFORNIA'S  GREETING    TO  SEWARD. 

Ko  need  to  bid  him  show  the  scars 
Of  blows  dealt  by  the  Scsean  gate, 

Who  lived  to  pass  its  shattered  bars, 
And  see  the  foe  capitulate; 

Who  lived  to  turn  his  slower  feet 
Toward  the  western  setting  sun. 

To  see  his  harvest  all  complete, 

His  dream  fulfilled,  his  duty  done,  — 

The  one  flag  streaming  from  the  pole, 
The  one  faith  borne  from  sea  to  sea, — 

For  such  a  triumph,  and  such  goal. 
Poor  must  our  human  greeting  be. 

Ah  !   rather  that  the  conscious  land 
In  simpler  ways  salute  the  Man,  — 


CALIFORNIA'S  GREETING   TO  SEWARD.      233 

The  tall  pines  bowing  where  they  stand, 
The  bared  head  of  El  Capitan, 

The  tumult  of  the  waterfalls, 

Pohono's  kerchief  in  the  breeze. 
The  waving  from  the  rocky  walls, 

The  stir  and  rustle  of  the  trees; 

Till  lapped  in  sunset  skies  of  hope. 

In  sunset  lands  by  sunset  seas, 
The  Young  World's  Premier  treads  the  slope 

Of  sunset  years  in  calm  and  peace. 


A 


THE    TWO    SHIPS. 


S  I  stand  by  tlie  cross  on  the  lone  mountain's 


Looking  over  the  nltimate  sea, 
In  the  gloom  of  the  mountain  a  ship  lies  at  rest, 

And  one  sails  away  from  the  lea: 
One  spreads  its  white  wings  on  a  far-reaching  track. 

With  pennant  and  sheet  flowing  free ; 
One  hides  in  the  shadow  with  sails  laid  aback, — 

The  ship  that  is  waiting  for  me ! 

234 


THE   TWO  SHIPS,  235 

But  lo,  in  the  distance  the  clouds  break  away! 

The  Gate's  glowing  portals  I  see; 
And  I  hear  from  the  outgoing  ship  in  the  bay 

The  song  of  the  sailors  in  glee: 
So  I  think  of  the  luminous  footprints  that  bore 

The  comfort  o'er  dark  Galilee, 
And  wait  for  the  signal  to  go  to  the  shore, 

To  the  ship  that  is  waiting  for  me. 


THE    GODDESS. 


FOR  THE  SANITARY  FAIR. 


«  "V'TT'HO  comes?"     The  sentry's  warning  cry 

Rings  sharply  on  the  evening  air: 
Who  comes?     The  challenge:  no  reply, 
Yet  something  motions  there. 

A  woman,  by  those  graceful  folds; 

A  soldier,  by  that  martial  tread: 
"Advance  three  paces.     Halt!  until 

Thy  name  and  rank  be  said." 

236 


THE   GODDESS.  237 

"My  name?     Her  name,  in  ancient  song, 

Who  fearless  from  Olympus  came: 
Look  on  me!     Mortals  know  me  best 

In  battle  and  in  flame." 

"Enough!     I  know  that  darion  voice; 

I  know  that  gleaming  eye  and  helm; 
Those  crimson  lips,  —  and  in  their  dew 

The  best  blood  of  the  realm. 

"The  young,  the  brave,  the  good  and  wise, 

Have  fallen  in  thy  curst  embrace: 
The  juices* of  the  grapes  of  wrath 

Still  stain  thy  guilty  face. 

"My  brother  lies  in  yonder  field, 
Face  downward  to  the  quiet  grass: 


238  THE   GODDESS. 

Go  back!  he  cannot  see  thee  now; 
But  here  thou  shalt  not  pass." 

A  crack  upon  the  evening  air, 
A  wakened  echo  from  the  hill: 

The  watch-dog  on  the  distant  shore 
Gives  mouth,  and  all  is  still. 

The  sentry  with  his  brother  lies 
Face  downward  on  the  quiet  grass; 

And  by  him,  in  the  pale  moonshine, 
A  shadow  seems  to  pass. 

No  lance  or  warlike  shield  it  bears : 
A  helmet  in  its  pitying  hands 

Brings  water  from  the  nearest  brook, 
To  meet  his  last  demands. 


THE   GODDESS.  239 

Call  this  be  she  of  haughty  mien, 

The  goddess  of  the  sword  and  shield? 

Ah,  yes!     The  Grecian  poet's  myth 
Sways  still  each  battle-field. 

For  not  alone  that  rugged  war 

Some  grace  or  charm  from  beauty  gains; 

But,  when  the  goddess'  work  is  done. 
The  woman's  still  remains. 


ADDEESS. 

OPENING 

OP  THE  CALIFORNIA  THEATRE,  SAN 
JAN.  19,  1870. 

FRANCISCO, 

E 

RIEF  words,  when  actions  wait, 

are  well: 

The  prompter's  hand  is  on  his  bell; 

The 

coming  heroes,  lovers,  kings, 

Axe 

idly  lounging  at  the  wings; 

Behind  the  curtain's  mystic  fold 

The 

glowing  future  lies  unrolled,  — 

And 

yet,  one  moment  for  the  Past; 

One 

retrospect,  —  the  first  and  last. 

240 

ADDRESS,  241 

"The  world's  a  stage,"  the  master  said. 
To-night  a  mightier  truth  is  read: 
^ot  in  the  shifting  canvas  screen, 
The  flash  of  gas,  or  tinsel  sheen; 
Not  in  the  skill  whose  signal  calls 
From  empty  boards  baronial  halls; 
But,  fronting  sea  and  curving  hay, 
Behold  the  players  and  the  play. 


Ah,  friends  !  beneath  your  real  skies 
The  actor's  short-lived  triumph  dies: 
On  that  broad  stage  of  empire  won, 
Whose  footlights  were  the  setting  sun, 
Whose  flats  a  distant  background  rose 
In  trackless  peaks  of  endless  snows ; 

21 


242  ADDRESS. 

Here  genius  bows,  and  talent  waits 
To  copy  that  but  One  creates. 

Your  shifting  scenes :  the  league  of  sand, 
An  avenue  by  ocean  spanned; 
The  narrow  beach  of  straggling  tents, 
A  mile  of  stately  monuments ; 
Your  standard,  lo !  a  flag  unfurled, 
Whose  clinging  folds  clasp  half  the  world, 
This  is  your  drama,  built  on  facts. 
With  "twenty  years  between  the  acts." 

One  moment  more :  i^  here  we  raise 
The  oft-sung  hymn  of  local  praise. 
Before  the  curtain  facts  must  sway; 
Here  waits  the  moral  of  your  play. 


ADDRESS.  243 

Glassed  in  the  poet's  thought,  you  view 
What  money  can,  yet  cannot  do; 
The  faith  that  soars,  the  deeds  that  shine, 
Above  the  gold  that  builds  the  shrine. 

And  oh !  when  others  take  our  place, 
And  Earth's  green  curtain  hides  our  face, 
Ere  on  the  stage,  so  silent  now. 
The  last  new  hero  makes  his  bow : 
So  may  our  deeds,  recalled  once  more 
In  Memory's  sweet  but  brief  encore, 
Down  all  the  circling  ages  run. 
With  the  world's  plaudit  of  "Well  done!" 


THE   LOST   GALLEOK. 

T'N  sixteen  hundred  and  forty-one, 
The  regular  yearly  galleon, 

Laden  with  odorous  gums  and  spice, 

India  cottons  and  India  rice. 

And  the  richest  silks  of  far  Cathay, 

Was  due  at  Acapulco  Bay. 

Due  she  was,  and  over-due, — 

Galleon,  merchandise,  and  crew. 

Creeping  along  through  rain  and  shine, 

Through  the  tropics,  under  the  line. 

244 

THE  LOST  GALLEON.                         245 

The  trains  were  waiting  outside  the  walls, 

The  wives  of  sailors  thronged  the  town, 

The  traders  sat  hy  their  empty  stalls, 

And  the  viceroy  himself  came  down  j 

The  bells  in  the  tower  were  all  a-trip. 

Te  Deums  were  on  each  father's  lip, 

The  limes  were  ripening  in  the  sun 

For  the  sick  of  the  coming  galleon. 

All  in  vain.     Weeks  passed  away. 

And  yet  no  galleon  saw  the  bay: 

India  goods  advanced  in  price; 

The  governor  missed  his  favorite  spice; 

The  senoritas  mourned  for  sandal. 

And  the  famous  cottons  of  Coromandel; 

21« 

246  THE  LOST  GALLEON. 

And  some  for  an  absent  lover  lost, 
And  one  for  a  husband,  —  Donna  Julia, 
Wife  of  the  captain,  tempest-tossed. 
In  circumstances  so  peculiar: 
Even  the  fathers,  unawares, 
Grumbled  a  little  at  their  prayers ; 
And  all  along  the  coast  that  year 
Votive  candles  were  scarce  and  dear. 

Never  a  tear  bedims  the  eye 

That  time  and  patience  will  not  dry; 

Never  a  lip  is  curved  with  pain 

That  can't  be  kissed  into  smiles  again  : 

And  these  same  truths,  as  far  as  I  know, 

Obtained  on  the  coast  of  Mexico 

More  than  two  hundred  years  ago, 


THE  LOST  GALLEON,  247 

In  sixteen  hundred  and  fifty-one, — 
Ten  years  after  the  deed  was  done, — 
And  folks  had  forgotten  the  galleon : 
The  divers  plunged  in  the  Gulf  for  pearls, 
White  as  the  teeth  of  the  Indian  girls ; 
The  traders  sat  by  their  full  bazaars; 
The  mules  with  many  a  weary  load, 
And  oxen,  dragging  their  creaking  cars. 
Came  and  went  on  the  mountain  road. 

Where  was  the  galleon  all  this  while : 
Wrecked  on  some  lonely  coral  isle  ? 
Burnt  by  the  roving  sea-marauders. 
Or  sailing  north  under  secret  orders? 
Had  she  found  the  Anian  passage  famed, 
By  lying  Moldonado  claimed, 


248  THE  LOST  GALLEON. 

And  sailed  through  the  sixty-fifth  degree 

Direct  to  the  North  Atlantic  sea? 

Or  had  she  found  the  "  Eiver  of  Kings," 

Of  which  De  Fonte  told  such  strange  things 

In  sixteen  forty  ?     Never  a  sign, 

East  or  West  or  under  the  line, 

They  saw  of  the  missing  galleon ; 

Never  a  sail  or  plank  or  chip, 

They  found  of  the  long-lost  treasure-ship. 

Or  enough  to  build  a  tale  upon. 

But  when  she  was  lost,  and  where  and  how, 

Are  the  facts  we're  coming  to  just  now. 


Take,  if  you  please,  the  chart  of  that  day 
Published  at  Madrid, — ])or  el  Bey; 


THE  LOST  GALLEON.  249 

Look  for  a  spot  in  the  old  South  Sea, 
The  hundred  and  eightieth  degree 
Longitude,  west  of  Madrid :  there, 
Under  the  equatorial  glare. 
Just  where  the  East  and  West  are  one, 
You'll  find  the  missing  galleon, — 
You'll  find  the  "  San  Gregorio,"  yet 
Riding  the  seas,  with  sails  all  set, 
Fresh  as  upon  the  very  day 
She  sailed  from  Acapulco  Bay. 


How  did  she  get  there?    What  strange  spell 
Kept  her  two  hundred  years  so  well, 
Free  from  decay  and  mortal  taint? 
What  but  the  prayers  of  a  patron  saint? 


250  THE  LOST  GALLEON. 

A  hundred  leagues  from  Manilla  town, 

The  "San  Gregorio's"  helm  came  down; 

Round  she  went  on  her  heel,  and  not 

A  cable's  length  from  a  galliot 

That  rocked  on  the  waters,  just  abreast 

Of  the  galleon's  course,  which  was  west-sou-west. 


Then  said  the  galleon's  commandante, 
General  Pedro  Sobriente 
(That  was  his  rank  on  land  and  main, 
A  regular  custom  of  old  Spain), 
"My  pilot  is  dead  of  scurvy:  may 
I  ask  the  longitude,  time,  and  day  ?  '* 
The  first  two  given  and  compared; 
The  third,  —  the  commandante  stared! 


THE  LOST  GALLEON.  251 

"  The  first  of  June  ?     I  make  it  second." 

Said  the  stranger,  "Then  you've  wrongly-reckoned; 

I  make  it  first :  as  you  came  this  way, 

You  should  have  lost  —  d'ye  see  —  a  day; 

Lost  a  day,  as  plainly  see, 

On  the  hundred  and  eightieth  degree." 

"Lost  a  day?"     "Yes:   if  not  rude, 

When  did  you  make  east  longitude?" 

"On  the  ninth  of  May, — our  patron's  day." 

"On  the  ninth?  —  you  had  no  ninth  of  May! 

Eighth  and  tenth  was  there;   but  stay"  — 

Too  late;   for  the  gaUeon  bore  away. 


Lost  was  the  day  they  should  have  kept, 
Lost  unheeded  and  lost  unwept; 


252  THE  LOST  GALLEON. 

Lost  in  a  way  that  made  search  vain, 
Lost  in  the  trackless  and  boundless  main; 
Lost  like  the  day  of  Job's  awful  curse, 
In  his  third  chapter,  third  and  fourth  verse. 
Wrecked  was  their  patron's  only  day : 
What  would  the  holy  fathers  say? 

Said  the  Fray  Antonio  Estavan, 
The  galleon's  chaplain,  —  a  learned  man,  — 
"Nothing  is  lost  that  you  can  regain: 
And  the  way  to  look  for  a  thing  is  plain 
To  go  where  you  lost  it,  back  again. 
Back  with  your  galleon  till  you  see 
The  hundred  and  eightieth  degree. 
Wait  till  the  rolling  year  goes  round, 
And  there  will  the  missing  day  be  found; 


THE  LOST  GALLEON.  253 

For  you'll  find  —  if  computation's  true  — 
That  sailing  east  will  give  to  you 
Not  only  one  ninth  of  May,  but  two,  — 
One  for  the  good  saint's  present  cheer. 
And  one  for  the  day  we  lost  last  year." 

Back  to  the  spot  sailed  the  galleon; 

Where,  for  a  twelvemonth,  off  and  on 

The  hundred  and  eightieth  degree. 

She  rose  and  fell  on  a  tropic  sea: 

But  lo  I  when  it  came  to  the  ninth  of  !May, 

All  of  a  sudden  becalmed  she  lay 

One  degree  from  that  fatal  spot, 

Without  the  power  to  move  a  knot; 

And  of  course  the  moment  she  lost  her  way, 

Gone  was  her  chance  to  save  that  day. 

22 


254  THE  LOST  GALLEON, 

To  cut  a  lengthening  story  short, 

She  never  saved  it.     Made  the  sport 

Of  evil  spirits  and  baffling  wind, 

She  was  always  before  or  just  behind,  — 

One  day  too  soon,  or  one  day  too  late; 

And  the  sun,  meanwhile,  would  never  wait : 

She  had  two  eighths,  as  she  idly  lay. 

Two  tenths,  but  never  a  ninth  of  May. 

And  there  she  rides  through  two  hundred  years 

Of  dreary  penance  and  anxious  fears ; 

Yet  through  the  grace  of  the  saint  she  served, 

Captain  and  crew  are  still  preserved. 


By  a  computation  that  still  holds  good, 
Made  by  the  Holy  Brotherhood, 


THE  LOST  GALLEON.  255 

The  "  San  Gregorio "  will  cross  that  line 

In  nineteen  hundred  and  thirty-nine, — 

Just  three  hundred  years  to  a  day 

From  the  time  she  lost  the  ninth  of  May. 

And  the  folk  in  Acapulco  town, 

Over  the  waters,  looking  down, 

Will  see  in  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun 

The  sails  of  the  missing  galleon. 

And  the  royaJ  standard  of  Philip  Rey ; 

The  gleaming  mast  and  glistening  spar. 

As  she  nears  the  surf  of  the  outer  bar. 

A  Te  Deum  sung  on  her  crowded  deck, 

An  odor  of  spice  along  the  shore, 

A  crash,  a  cry  from  a  shattered  wreck,  — 

And  the  yearly  galleon  sails  no  more, 


256         -  THE  LOST  GALLEON. 

In  or  out  of  the  olden  bay  j 

For  the  blessed  patron  has  found  his  day. 


Such  is  the  legend.     Hear  this  truth  : 
Over  the  trackless  past,  somewhere, 
Lie  the  lost  days  of  our  tropic  youth, 
Only  regained  by  faith  and  prayer. 
Only  recalled  by  prayer  and  plaint. 
Each  lost  day  has  its  patron  saint ! 


A    SECOITD    REVIEW    OF    THE    GRAND 

ARMY. 

"T   READ  last  night  of  the  Grand  Review 
In  Washington's  chiefest  avenue,  — 

Two  Hundred  Thousand  men  in  blue, 

I  think  they  said  was  the  number,  — 

Till  I  seemed  to  hear  their  trampling  feet. 

The  bugle  blast  and  the  drum's  quick  beat, 

The  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the  stony  street. 

The  cheers  of  people  who  came  to  greet, 

And  the  thousand  details  that  to  repeat 

Would  only  my  verse  encumber,  — 

Till  I  fell  in  a  revery,  sad  and  sweet, 

And  then  to  a  fitful  slumber. 

22*                                                     267 

258  SECOND  REVIEW  OF  THE   GRAND  ARMY. 

When,  lo !  in  a  vision  I  seemed  to  stand 
In  the  lonely  Capitol.     On  each  hand 
Far  stretched  the  portico;    dim  and  grand 
Its  columns  ranged,  like  a  martial  band 
Of  sheeted  spectres  whom  some  command 

Had  called  to  a  last  reviewing. 
And  the  streets  of  the  city  were  white  and  bare ; 
No  footfall  echoed  across  the  square ; 
But  out  of  the  misty  midnight  air 
I  heard  in  the  distance  a  trumpet  blare, 
And  the  wandering  night-winds  seemed  to  bear 

The  sound  of  a  far  tattooing. 


Then  I  held  my  breath  with  fear  and  dread; 
For  into  the  square,  with  a  brazen  tread, 


SECOND  REVIEW  OF  THE   GRAND  ARMY.  251) 

There  rode  a  figure  whose  stately  head 

O'erlooked  the  review  that  morning. 

That  never  bowed  from  its  firm-set  seat 

When  the  living  column  passed  its  feet, 

Yet  now  rode  steadily  up  the  street 

To  the  phantom  bugle's  warning: 


Till  it  reached  the  Capitol  square,  and  wheeled, 
And  there    in  the  moonlight  stood  revealed 
A  well-known  form  that  in  State  and  field 

Had  led  our  patriot  sires; 
Whose  face  was  turned  to  the  sleeping  camp, 
Afar  through  the  river's  fog  and  damp, 
That  showed  no  flicker,  nor  waning  lamp. 

Nor  wasted  bivouac  fires. 


260  SECOND  REVIEW  OF  THE   GRAND  ARMY. 

And  I  saw  a  phantom  army  come, 
With  never  a  sound  of  fife  or  drum, 
But  keeping  time  to  a  throbbing  hum 

Of  wailing  and  lamentation : 
The  martyred  heroes  of  Malvern  Hill, 
Of  Gettysburg  and  Chancellorsville, 
The  men  whose  wasted  figures  fill 

The  patriot  graves  of  the  nation. 


And  there  came  the  nameless  dead,  —  the  men 
Who  perished  in  fever  swamp  and  fen, 
The  slowly-starved  of  the  prison-pen. 

And,  marching  beside  the  others. 
Came  the  dusky  martyrs  of  Pillow's  fight, 
With  limbs  enfranchised  and  bearing  bright: 


SECOA'D  REVIEW  OF   THE   GRAND  ARMY.  261 

I  thought  —  perhaps  'twas  the  pale  modnlight  — 
They  looked  as  white  as  their  brothers  I 

And  so  all  night  marched  the  Nation's  dead, 
With  never  a  banner  above  them  spread, 
Nor  a  badge,  nor  a  motto  brandished; 
No  mark  —  save  the  bare  uncovered  head 

Of  the  silent  bronze  Reviewer; 
With  never  an  arch  save  the  vaulted  sky; 
With  never  a  flower  save  those  that  lie 
On  the  distant  graves  —  for  love  could  buy 

No  gift  that  was  purer  or  truer. 

So  all  night  long  swept  the  strange  array; 
So  all  night  long,  till  the  morning  gray, 
I  watched  for  one  who  had  passed  away, 

With  a  reverent  awe  and  wondor,  — 


262  SECOND  REVIEW  OF  THE   GRAND  ARMY. 

Till  a  blue  cap  waved  in  the  length'ning  line, 
And  I  knew  that  one  who  was  kin  of  mine 
Had  come  ;  and  I  spake  —  and  lo !  that  sign 
Awakened  me  from  my  slumber. 


PART    II. 


BEFORE    THE    CURTAIN. 

Behind  the  footlights  hangs  the  rusty  baize, 

A  trifle  shabby  in  the  upturned  blaze 

Of  flaring  gas,  and  curious  eyes  that  gaze. 

The  stage,  methinks,  perhaps  is  none  too  wide. 

And  hardly  fit  for  royal  Richard's  stride, 

Or  Falstaff 's  bulk,  or  Denmark's  youthful  pride. 

Ah,  well !  no  passion  ■ivalks  Its  humble  boards ; 
O'er  it  no  king  nor  valiant  Hector  lords : 
The  simplest  skill  is  all  its  space  affords. 

The  song  and  jest,  the  dance  and  trifling  play, 
The  local  hit  ut  follies  of  the  day. 
The  trick  to  pass  an  Idle  hour  away,  — 

For  these,  no  trumpets  that  announce  the  Moor, 
No  blast  that  makes  the  hero's  welcome  sure,  — 
A  single  fiddle  in  the  overture  t 


THE  STAGE-DRIVER'S   STORY. 


TT  was   the    stage-driver's    story,  as   he    stood  with 

his  back  to  the  wheelers,  ^ 

Quietly  flecking  his  whip,  and   turning'  his   quid    of 

tobacco ; 
While  on  the  dusty  road,  and  blent  with  the  rays  of 

the  moonlight, 
We  saw  the  long  curl   of  his  lash   and  the  juice   of 

tobacco  descending. 

287 


268  THE  STAGE-DRIVER'S  STORY. 

"  Danger  ! .    Sir,    I   believe   you,  —  indeed,  I   may  say 

on  that  subject, 
You  your  existence  might  put  to  the  hazard  and  turn 

of  a  wager. 
I  have  seen  danger?     Oh,  no!  not  me,  sir,  indeed,  I 

^,ssure  you: 
'Twas    only    the    man    with    the    dog    that  is    sitting 

alone  in  yon  wagon. 


•'  It  was  the  Geiger  Grade,  a  mile  and  a  half  from  tbr 

summit : 
Black  as  your  hat  was  the    night,  and   never   a   stai 

in  the  heavens. 
Thundering   down   the    grade,  the    gravel    and   stoii('> 

we  sent  flying 


THE  STAGE-DRIVER'S  STORY.  269 

Over  the  precipice  side,  —  a  thoiisand  feet   plumb   to 
the  bottom. 

"Half-way  down  the  grade  I  felt,  sir,  a  thrilling  and 

creaking,  "* 

Then  a  lurch  to  one  side,  as  we  hung   on   the   bank 

of  the  caiion; 
Then,  looking   up    the   road,    I   saw,  in    the    distance 

behind  me. 
The  oif  hind  wheel  of  the  coach  just  loosed  from  its 

axle,  and  following. 

"One  glance  alone  I  gave,  then  gathered  together  my 

ribbons, 
Shouted,  and  flung  them,  outspread,  on  the   straining 

necl«  of  my  cattle ; 


270  THE  STAGE-DRIVER'S  STORY. 

Screamed  at  the  top  of  my  voice,  and  lashed  the  air 

in  my  frenzy, 
While    down    the  Geiger  Grade,  on  three  wheels,  the 

vehicle  thundered. 

"Speed  was   our  only  chance,  when    again   came   the 

ominous  rattle  : 
Crack,  and  another  wheel  slipped  away,  and  was  lost 

in  the  darkness. 
Two   only  now  were    left ;   yet    such  was   our   fearful 

momentum, 
Upright,    erect,    and    sustained    on    two    wheels,    the 

vehicle  thundered. 

"  As  some  huge  bowlder,  unloosed  from  its  rocky  shelf 
on  the  mountain. 


THE  STAGE-DRIVER'S  STORY.  271 

Drives  before  it  the  hare    and   the   timorous    squirrel, 

far-leaping, 
So  down  the  Geiger  Grade  rushed  the  Pioneer  coach, 

and  before  it 
Leaped  the  wild  horses,  and  shrieked   in    advance   of 

the  danger  impending. 


"But  to  be  brief  in  my  tale.     Again,  ere  we  came  to 

the  level, 
Slipped  from  its  axle  a  wheel;   so  that,  to    be    plain 

in  my  statement, 
A  matter  of  twelve  hundred   yards   or   more,   as   the 

distance  may  be, 
We  travelled  upon  one  wheel,  until  we  drove   up   to 

the  station. 


272  THE  STAGE-DRIVER'S  STORY. 

"  Then,  sir,  we  sank  in  a  heap :   hut   picking   myself 

from  the  ruins, 
I  heard  a  noise  up  the  grade;   and  looking,  I  saw  in 

the  distance 
The   three  wheels  following   still,  like    moons   on   the 

horizon  whirling, 
Till,  circling,  they  gracefully  sank  on  the  road  at  the 

side  of  the  station. 

"This  is  my  story,  sir;  a  trifle,  indeed,  I  assure  you. 
Much   more,   perchance,    might    be   said;    hut  I  hold 

him,  of  all  men,  most  lightly 
Who  swerves  from  the  truth  in  his  tale  —  No,  thank 

you  —  Well,  since  you  are  pressing, 
Perhaps  I  don't  care  if   I  do:   you  may  give  me   the 

same,  Jim,  —  no  sugar." 


ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAIOTJ. 

A  CHEMICAL  NAKRATIVE. 

/^ERTAIN  facts  which  serve  to  explain 

The  physical  charms  of  Miss  Addie  De  Laine, 
Who,  as  the  common  reports  obtain, 
Surpassed  in  complexion  the  lily  and  rose ; 
With  a  very  sweet  mouth  and  a  retrousse  nose; 
A  figure  like  Hebe's,  or  that  which  revolves 
In  a  milliner's  window,  and  partially  solves 
That  question  which  mentor  and  moralist  pains. 
If  grace  may  exist  minus  feeling  or  brains. 

273 


274  ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAINE. 

Of  course  the  young  lady  had  heaux  by  the  score, 
All  that  she  wanted,  —  what  girl  could  ask  more? 
Lovers  that  sighed,  and  lovers  that  swore, 
Lovers  that  danced,  and  lovers  that  played, 
Men  of  profession,  of  leisure,  and  trade ; 
But  one,  who  was  destined  to  take  the  high  part 
Of  holding  that  mythical  treasure,  her  heart,  — 
This  lover  —  the  wonder  and  envy  of  town  — 
Was  a  practising  chemist,  —  a  fellow  called  Brown. 


I  might  here  remark  that  'twas  doubted  by  many, 
In  regard  to  the  heart,  if  Miss  Addie  had  any; 
But  no  one  could  look  in  that  eloquent  face, 
With  its  exquisite  outline,  and  features  of  grace, 


ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAINE.  275 

And   mark,   through    the   transparent   skin,    how   the 

tide 
Ebbed    and    flowed    at    the    impulse    of    passion    or 

pride,  — 
None  could  look,  who  believed  in  the  blood's  circula- 
tion 
As  argued  by  Harvey,  but  saw  confirmation. 
That  here,  at  least,  Nature  had  triumphed  o'er  art, 
And,  as  far  as  complexion  went,  she  had  a  heart. 


But  this  par  parenthesis.     Brown  was  the  man 

Preferred  of  all  others  to  carry  her  fan. 

Hook  her  glove,  drape  her  shawl,  and    do    all  that    a 

belle 
May  demand  of  the  lover  she  wants  to  treat  well. 


276  ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAINE. 

Folks    wondered     and     stared     that    a    fellow    called 

Brown  — 
Abstracted  and  solemn,  in  manner  a  clown, 
111  dressed,  with  a  lingering  smell  of  the  shop — 
Should  appear  as  her  escort  at  party  or  hop. 
Some  swore  he  had  cooked  up  some  villanous  charm, 
Or  love  philter,  not  in  the  regular  Pharm- 
Acopea,  and  thus,  from  pure  mails  prepensey 
Had    bewitched    and    bamboozled    the    young    lady's 

sense ; 
Others  thought,  with  more  reason,  the  secret  to  lie 
In  a  magical  wash  or  indelible  dye ; 
While  Society,  with  its  censorious  eye 
And  judgment  impartial,  stood  ready  to  damn 
What  wasn't  improper  as  being  a  sham. 


ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAINE.  211 

For  a  fortnight  the  townfolk  had  all  heen  agog 

With  a  party,  the  finest  the  season  had  seen, 

To  be  given  in  honor  of  Miss  Pollywog, 

Who  was  just  coming  out  as  a  belle  of  sixteen. 

The  guests  were  invited :   but  one  night  before, 

A  carriage  drew  up  at  the  modest  back-door 

Of  Brown's  lab'ratory ;    and,  full  in  the   glare 

Of  a  big  purple  bottle,  some  closely-veiled  fair 

Alighted  and  entered :   to  make  matters  plain, 

Spite  of  veils  and  disguises,  —  'twas  Addie  De  Laine. 


As  a  bower  for  true  love,  'twas  hardly  the  one 
That  a  lady  would  choose  to  be  wooed  in  or  won : 
No  odor  of  rose  or  sweet  jessamine's  sigh 
Breathed  a  fragrance  to  hallow  their  pledge  of  troth  by. 


278  ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAINE. 

Nor  the  balm  that  exhales  from  the  odorous  thyme; 
But  the  gaseous  eflfiisions  of  chloride  of  lime, 
And  salts,  which  your  chemist  delights  to  explain 
As  the  base  of  the  smell  of  the  rose  and  the  drain. 
Think  of  this,  0  ye  lovers  of  sweetness !   and  know 
What   you    smell,    when   you    snuff    up  Lubin  or  Pi- 
naud. 

I  pass  by  the  greetings,  the  transports  and  bliss. 
Which,  of  course,  duly  followed  a  meeting  like  this, 
Aud  come  down  to  business;  —  for  such  the  intent 
Of  the  lady  who  now  o'er  the  crucible  leant, 
In  the  glow  of  a  furnace  of  carbon  and  lime. 
Like  a  fairy  called  up  in  the  new  pantomime";  — 
And  give  but  her  words  as  she  coyly  looked  down, 
In  reply  to  the  questioning  glances  of  Brown: 


ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAINE.  279 

"I  am  taking  the  drops,  and  am  using  the  paste, 
And   the    little    white    powders    that    had    a    sweet 

taste, 
Which  you  told  me  would  brighten  the  glance  of  my 

eye, 
And  the  depilatory,  and  also  the  dye, 
And  Fm  charmed  with  the  trial;   and  now,  my  dear 

Brown, 
I  have  one  other  favor,  —  now,  ducky,  don't  frown, — 
Only  one,  for  a  chemist  and  genius  like  you 
But  a  trifle,  and  one  you  can  easily  do. 
Now  listen:  to-morrow,  you  know,  is  the  night 
Of  the  birthday  soiree  of  that  Pollywog  fright; 
And  I'm  to  be  there,  and  the  dress  I  shall  wear 
Is  too  lovely;  biit" —    "But  what  then,  ma  chere?'' 


280  ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAINE. 

Said  Brown,  as  the  lady  came  to  a  full  stop, 

And    glanced   round   the    shelves    of    the    little   baclc 

shop. 
"Well,  I   want  —  I    want   something   to   fill   out   the 

skirt 
To  the  proper  dimension,  without  being  girt 
In  a  stiff  crinoline,  or  caged  in  a  hoop 
That  shows  through   one's    skirt   like    the    bars   of  a 

coop; 
Something  light,  that  a  lady  may  waltz  in,  or  polk, 
With   a  freedom   that  none   but  you   masculine   folk 
Ever  know.     For,  however  poor  woman  aspires, 
She's  always  bound  down  to  the  earth  by  these  wires. 

Are   you    listening  ?     nonsense !     don't   stare   like    a 
spoon, 


ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAINE.  281 

Idiotic;   some  light  thing,  and  spacious,  and  soon  — 
Something   like  —  well,    in    fact  —  something    like   a 

balloon !  '* 
Here  she  paused;    and    here    Brown,    overcome    by 

surprise, 
Gave  a  doubting  assent  with  still  wondering  eyes. 
And  the  lady  departed.     But  just  at  the  door 
Something  happened,  —  'tis  true,  it  had  happened  before 
In  this  sanctum  of  science,  —  a  sibilant  sound, 
Like  some  element  just  from  its  trammels  unbound, 
Or  two  substances  that  their  affinities  found. 
The  night  of  the  anxiously-looked-for  soiree 
Had  come,  with  its  fair  ones  in  gorgeous  array; 
With  the  rattle  of  wheels,  and  the  tinkle  of  bells. 
And  the  "How  do  ye  dos,"  and  the  "Hope  you  are 

wells ; " 

84* 


282  ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAINE. 

And  the  crash  in  the  passage,  and  last  lingering  look 
You  give  as  you  hang  your  best  hat  on  the  hook; 
The  rush  of  hot  air  as  the  door  opens  wide ; 
And    your     entry,  —  that    blending    of    self-possessed 

pride 
And  humility  shown  in  your  perfect-bred  stare 
At  the  folk,  as  if  wondering  how  they  got  there; 
With  other  tricks  worthy  of  Vanity  Fair. 
Meanwhile  that  safe  topic,  the  heat  of  the  room, 
Already  was  losing  its  freshness  and  bloom ; 
Young  people  were  yawning,  and  wondering  when 
The  dance  would  come  off,  and  why  didn't  it  then : 
When  a  vague  expectation  was  filling  the  crowd, 
Lo,  the  door  swung  its  hinges  with  utterance  proud! 
And  Pompey  announced,  with  a  trumpet-like  strain, 
The  entrance  of  Brown  and  Miss  Addie  De  Laine. 


ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAINE,  283 

She  entered :  but  oh,  how  imperfect  the  verb 

To  express  to  the  senses  her  movement  superb ! 

To  say  that  she  "  sailed  in  "  more  clearly  might  tell 

Her  grace  in  its  buoyant  and  billowy  swell. 

Her  robe  was  a  vague  circumambient  space, 

With  shadowy  boundaries  made  of  point-lace. 

The  rest  was  but  guess-work,  and  well  might  defy 

The  power  of  critical  feminine  eye 

To  define  or  describe :   'twere  as  futile  to  try 

The  gossamer  web  of  the  cirrus  to  trace. 

Floating  far  in  the  blue  of  a  warm  summer  sky. 


'Midst  the  humming  of  praises   and   the   glances   of 

beaux, 
That  greet  our  fair  maiden  wherever  she  goes. 


284  ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAINE. 

Brown  slipped  like  a  shadow,  grim,  silent,  and  black, 
With  a  look  of  anxiety,  close  in  her  track. 
Once  he  whispered  aside  in  her  delicate  ear, 
A  sentence  of  warning,  —  it  might  be  of  fear : 
"  Don't  stand  in  a  draught,  if  you  value  your  life." 
(Nothing  more,  —  such  advice  might  be  given  your  wife 
Or  your  sweetheart,  in  times  of  bronchitis  and  cough, 
Without  mystery,  romance,  or  frivolous  scoff".) 
But  hark  to  the  music :  the  dance  has  begun. 
The  closely-draped  windows  wide  open  are  flung  j 
The  notes  of  the  piccolo,  joyous  and  light, 
Like  bubbles  burst  forth  on  the  warm  summer  night. 
E,ound  about  go  the  dancers;  in  circles  they  fly; 
Trip,  trip,  go  their  feet  as  their  skirts  eddy  by ; 
And  swifter  and  lighter,  but  somewhat  too  plain, 
Whisks  the  fair  circumvolving  Miss  Addie  De  Laine. 


ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAINE.  285 

Taglioni  and  Cerito  well  might  have  pined 

For  the  vigor  and  ease  that  her  movements  combined ; 

E'en  Rigelboche  never  flung  higher  her  robe 

In  the  naughtiest  city  that's  known  on  the  globe. 

'Twas  amazing,  'twas  scandalous :   lost  in  surprise, 

Some  opened  their  mouths,  and  a  few  shut  their  eyes. 

But  hark  I    At  the  moment  Miss  Addie  De  Laine, 
Circling  round  at  the  outer  edge  of  an  ellipse, 
Which  brought  her  fair  form  to  the  window  again, 
From  the  arms  of  her  partner  incautiously  slips ! 
And  a  shriek  fills  the  air,  and  the  music  is  still, 
And  the  crowd  gather  round  where   her  partner  for- 
lorn 
Still  frenziedly  points  from  the  wide  window-sill 
Into  space  and  the  night  j  for  Miss  Addie  was  gone  ! 


286  ASPIRING  MISS  DE  LAINE. 

Gone  like  the  bubble  tbat  bursts  in  the  sun 


Gone  like  the  grain  when  the  reaper  is  done; 
Gone  like  the  dew  on  the  fresh  morning  grass ; 
Gone  without  parting  farewell;    and  alas! 
Gone  with  a  flavor  of  Hydrogen  Gas. 

When  the  weather  is  pleasant,  you  frequently  meet 
A  white-headed  man  slowly  pacing  the  street; 
His  trembling  hand  shading  his  lack-lustre  eye, 
Half  blind  with  continually  scanning  the  sky. 
Rumor  points  him  as  some  astronomical  sage, 
Reperusing  by  day  the  celestial  page; 
But  the  reader,  sagacious,  will  recognize  Brown, 
Trying  vainly  to  conjure  his  lost  sweetheart  down, 
And  learn  the  stem  moral  this  story  must  teach, 
That  Genius  may  lift  its  love  out  of  its  reach, 


CALIFORNIA    MADEIGAL. 

ON  THE  APPROACH  OF  SPRING. 

/^H,  come,  my  beloved!  from  thy  winter  abode, 
From   thy  home   on   the  Yuba,  thy  ranch   over- 
flowed ; 
For  the  waters  have  fallen,  the  winter  has  fled, 
And  the  river  once  more  has  returned  to  its  bed. 

Oh,  mark  how  the  spring  in  its  beauty  is  near  I 
How  the  fences  and  tules  once  more  re-appear  I 
How  soft  lies  the  mud  on  the  banks  of  yon  slough 
By  the  hole  in  the  levee  the  waters  broke  through! 


288  CALIFORNIA  MADRIGAL. 

All  Nature,  dear  Cliloris,  is  blooming  to  greet 
The  glance  of  your  eye,  and  the  tread  of  your  feet ; 
For  the  trails  are  all  open,  the  roads  are  all  free, 
And  the  highwayman's  whistle  is  heard  on  the  lea. 


Again  swings  the  lash  on  the  high  mountain  trail, 
And  the  pipe  of  the  packer  is  scenting  the  gale; 
The  oath  and  the  jest  ringing  high  o'er  the  plain, 
Where  the  smut  is  not  always  confined  to  the  grain. 


Once  more  glares  the  sunlight  on  awning  and  roof. 
Once  more  the  red  clay's  pulverized  by  the  hoof. 
Once  more  the  dust  powders  the  "outsides"  with  red, 
Once  more  at  the  station  the  whiskey  is  spread. 


CALIFORNIA   MADRIGAL.  289 

Then  fly  with  me,  love,  ere  the  summer's  begun, 
And  the  mercury  mounts  to  one  hundred  and  one ; 
Ere    the  grass  now  so    green   shall   be  withered    and 

sear. 
In  the   spring   that   obtains   but    one   month   in   the 

year. 


ST.   THOMAS. 

A  GEOGRAPHICAL   SURVEY. 

(1868.) 

'XT'ERY  fair  and  full  of  promise 

Lay  the  island  of  St.  Thomas 
Ocean  o'er  its  reefs  and  bars 
Hid  its  elemental  scars; 
Groves  of  cocoanut  and  guava 
Grew  above  its  fields  of  lava. 
So  the  gem  of  the  Antilles, — 
"  Isles  of  Eden/'  where  no  ill  is,  — 
Like  a  great  green  turtle  slumbered 
On  the  sea  that  it  encumbered. 

290 


ST.    THOMAS.  291 


Then  said  William  Henry  Seward, 
As  he  cast  his  eye  to  leeward, 
"Quite  important  to  our  commerce 
Is  this  island  of  St.  Thomas." 


Said  the  Mountain  ranges,  "Thank'ee, 
But  we  cannot  stand  the  Yankee 
O'er  our  scars  and  fissures  poring. 
In  our  very  vitals  boring, 
In  our  sacred  caverns  prying. 
All  our  secret  problems  trying, — 
Digging,  blasting,  with  dynamit 
Mocking  all  our  thunders!     Damn  itl 
Other  lands  may  be  more  civil, 
Bust  our  lava  crust  if  we  will." 


292  ST.    THOMAS. 

Said  the  Sea,  —  its  white  teeth  gnashing 
Through  its  coral-reef  lips  flashing, — 
"Shall  I  let  this  scheming  mortal 
Shut  with  stone  my  shining  portal, 
Curb  my  tide,  and  check  my  play, 
Fence  with  wharves  my  shining  bay? 
Eather  let  me  be  drawn  out 
In  one  awful  waterspout!" 


Said  the  black-browed  Hurricane, 
Brooding  down  the  Spanish  main, 
"Shall  I  see  my  forces,  zounds! 
Measured  by  square  inch  and  pounds, 
With  detectives  at  my  back 
When  I  double  on  my  track, 


ST.    THOMAS.  293 

And  my  secret  paths  made  clear, 
Published  o'er  the  hemisphere 
To  each  gaping,  prying  crew? 
Shall  I?     Blow  me  if  I  dot" 

So  the  Mountains  shook  and  thundered, 
And  the  Hurricane  came  sweeping, 
And  the  people  stared  and  wondered 
As  the  Sea  came  on  them  leaping: 
Each,  according  to  his  promise, 
Made  things  lively  at  St.  Thomas. 

Till  one  mom,  when  Mr.  Seward 
Cast  his  weather  eye  to  leeward. 
There  was  not  an  inch  of  dry  land 
Left  to  mark  his  recent  island. 


294  ST.    THOMAS. 

Not  a  flagstaff  or  a  sentry, 
Not  a  wharf  or  port  of  entry, 
^    Only  —  to  cut  matters  shorter - 
Just  a  patch  of  muddy  water 
In  the  open  ocean  lying, 
And  a  gull  above  it  flying. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  MR.  COOKE. 

A   LEGEND   OF   THE   CLIFF  HOUSE,   SAN   FRANCISCO. 

"TTT^HERE  the  sturdy  ocean  breeze 

Drives  the  spray  of  roaring  seas 
That  the  Cliff-House  balconies 

Overlook : 
There,  in  spite  of  rain  that  balked, 
With  his  sandals  duly  chalked, 
Once  upon  a  tight-rope  walked 

Mr.  Cooke. 

205 


296       THE  BALLAD   OF  MR.   COOKE. 

But  the  jester's  lightsome  mien, 

And  his  spangles  and  his  sheen, 

All  had  vanished,  when  the  scene 

He  forsook; 

Yet  in  some  delusive  hope. 

In  some  vague  desire  to  cope, 

One  still  came  to  view  the  rope 

Walked  by  Cooke. 
•  ••••• 

Amid  Beauty's  bright  array. 

On  that  strange  eventful  day. 

Partly  hidden  from  the  spray, 

In  a  nook. 

Stood  Florinda  Vere  de  Vere; 

Who  with  wind-dishevelled  hair. 

And  a  rapt,  distracted  air. 

Gazed  on  Cooke. 


THE  BALLAD   OF  MR.    COOKE.  297 

Then  she  turned,  and  quickly  cried 

To  her  lover  at  her  side, 

While  her  form  with  love  and  pride 

Wildly  shook, 
"  Clifford  Snook  I  oh,  here  me  now  ! 
Here  I  hreak  each  plighted  vow: 
There's  but  one  to  whom  I  bow. 

And  that's  Cooke!" 

Haughtily  that  young  man  spoke: 
"I  descend  from  noble  folk. 
'Seven  Oaks,'  and  then  'Se'nnoak,' 

Lastly  Snook, 
Is  the  way  my  name  I  trace: 
Shall  a  youth  of  noble  race 
In  affairs  of  love  give  place 

To  a  Cooke?" 


298       THE  BALLAD   OF  MR.    COOKE, 

"Clifford  Snook,  I  know  thy  claim 

To  that  lineage  and  name, 

And  I  think  I've  read  the  same 

In  Home  Tooke; 
But  I  swear,  by  all  divine, 

Kever,  never  to  be  thine. 

Till  thou  canst  upon  yon  line 

Walk  like  Cooke." 

Though  to  that  gymnastic  feat 
He  no  closer  might  compete 
Than  to  strike  a  halance-^^Qt 

In  a  book; 
Yet  thenceforward,  from  that  day. 
He  his  figure  would  display 
In  some  wild  athletic  way, 

After  Cooke. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  MR.   COOKE.  299 

On  some  household  eminence, 
On  a  clothes-line  or  a  fence, 
Over  ditches,  drains,  and  thence 

O'er  a  brook. 
He,  by  high  ambition  led. 
Ever  walked  and  balanced; 
Till  the  people,  wondering,  said, 

"  How  Uke  Cooke  !  " 

Step  by  step  did  he  proceed. 
Nerved  by  valor,  not  by  greed, 
And  at  last  the  crowning  deed 

Undertook : 
Misty  was  the  midnight  air. 
And  the  cliff  was  bleak  and  bare. 
When  he  came  to  do  and  dare 

Just  like  Cooke. 


300  THE  BALLAD   OF  MR,   COOKE. 

Through  the  darkness,  o'er  the  flow, 
Stretched  the  line  where  he  should  go 
Straight  across,  as  flies  the  crow 

Or  the  rook: 
One  wild  glance  around  he  cast; 
Then  he  faced  the  ocean  hlast, 
And  he  strode  the  cable  last 

Touched  by  Cooke. 

Vainly  roared  the  angry  seas; 
Vainly  blew  the  ocean  breeze; 
But,  alas!  the  walker's  knees 

Had  a  crook; 
And  before  he  reached  the  rock 
Did  they  both  together  knock, 
And  he  stumbled  with  a  shock  — 

Unlike  Cooke! 


THE  BALLAD  OF  MR.   COOKE.  3()1 

Downward  dropping  in  the  dark, 
Like  an  arrow  to  its  mark, 
Or  a  fish-pole  when  a  shark 

Bites  the  hook, 
Dropped  the  pole  he  could  not  save. 
Dropped  the  walker,  and  the  wave 
Swift  ingulfed  the  rival  brave 

■  Of  J.  Cooke  ! 

Came  a  roar  across  the  sea 

Of  sea-lions  in  their  glee, 

In  a  tongue  remarkably- 
Like  Chinnook ; 

And  the  maddened  sea-gull  seemed 

Still  to  utter,  as  he  scjreamed, 

"Perish  thus  the  wretch  who  deemed  \ 

Himself  Cooke  I " 


302  THE  BALLAD   OF  MIL    COOKE. 

But,  on  misty  moonlit  nights, 

Comes  a  skeleton  in  tights. 

Walks  once  more  the  giddy  heights 

He  mistook ; 
And  unseen  to  mortal  eyes, 
Purged  of  grosser  earthly  ties, 
Now  at  last  in  spirit  guise 

Outdoes  Cooke. 

Still  the  sturdy  ocean  breeze 
Sweeps  the  spray  of  roaring  seas, 
Where  the  Cliff-House  balconies 

Overlook ; 
And  the  maidens  in  their  prime, 
Reading  of  this  mournful  rhyme, 
Weep  where,  in  the  olden  time, 

Walked  J.  Cooke. 


THE  LEGE]:a)S  OF  THE  RHINE. 

"OEETLKSTG  walls  with  ivy  grown, 

Frowning  heiglits  of  mossy  stone ; 

Turret,  with  its  flaunting  flag 

Flung  from  battlemented  crag; 

Dungeon-keep  and  fortalice 

Looking  down  a  precipice 

O'er  the  darkly  glancing  wave 

By  the  Lurline-haunted  cave ; 

Kobber  haunt  and  maiden  bower, 

Home  of  Love  and  Crime  and  Power,  — 

That's  the  scenery,  in  fine. 

Of  the  Legends  of  the  Rhino. 

8a3 


304  THE  LEGENDS  OF  THE  RHINE, 

One  bold  baron,  double-dyed 
Bigamist  and  parricide, 
And,  as  most  the  stories  run, 
Partner  of  the  Evil  One; 
Injured  innocence  in  white, 
Fair  but  idiotic  quite. 
Wringing  of  her  lily  hands; 
Valor  fresh  from  Paynim  lands, 
Abbot  ruddy,  hermit  pale, 
Minstrel  fraught  with  many  a  tale, 
Are  the  actors  that  combine 
In  the  Legends  of  the  E-hine. 


BeU-mouthed  flagons  round  a  board; 
Suits  of  armor,  shield,  and  sword ; 


"  BeU-mouthed flagons  round  a  board.^ 


7 HE  LEGENDS  OF  THE  RHINE,  305 

Kerchief  with  its  bloody  stain ; 
Ghosts  of  the  untimely  slain ; 
Thunder-clap  and  clanking  chain ; 
Headsman's  block  and  shining  axe; 
Thumbscrews,  crucifixes,  racks ; 
Midnight-tolling  chapel  bell, 
Heard  across  the  gloomy  fell, — 
These,  and  other  pleasant  facts, 
Are  the  properties  that  shine 
In  the  Legends  of  the  Khine. 


Maledictions,  whispered  vows 
Underneath  the  linden  boughs ; 
Murder,  bigamy,  and  theft; 
Travellers  of  goods  bereft; 

20* 


306  THE  LEGENDS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

Rapine,  pillage,  arson,  spoil,  — 
Every  thing  but  honest  toil, 
•     Are  the  deeds  that  best  define 
Every  Legend  of  the  Rhine. 

That  Virtue  always  meets  reward, 
But  quicker  when  it  wears  a  sword 
That  Providence  has  special  care 
Of  gallant  knight  and  lady  fair; 
That  villains,  as  a  thing  of  course. 
Are  always  haunted  by  remorse, — 
Is  the  moral,  I  opine, 
Of  the  Legends  of  the  Rhine. 


MRS.  JUDGE  JENKINS. 

[BEING  THE  ONLY  GENUINE  SEQUEL  TO  "  MAUD  MULLEIl.»»3 

nVyT  AUD   MULLER,  all  that  summer  day, 
Raked  the  meadow  sweet  with  hay; 

Yet,  looking  down  the  distant  lane. 
She  hoped  the  judge  would  come  again. 

But  when  he  came,  with  smile  and  bow, 
Maud  only  blushed,  and  stammered  "  Ha-ow  ?  " 

807 


308  MRS.   JUDGE  JENKINS. 

And  spoke  of  her  "pa,"  and  wondered  whether 
He'd  give  consent  they  should  wed  together. 

Old  Muller  burst  in  tears,  and  then 

Begged  that  the  judge  would  lend  him  "  ten ; "  » 

For  trade  was  dull,  and  wages  low. 

And  the  "  craps,"  this  year,  were  somewhat  slow. 

And  ere  the  languid  summer  died. 
Sweet  Maud  became  the  judge's  bride. 

But,  on  the  day  that  they  were  mated, 
Maud's  brother  Bob  was  intoxicated ; 

And  Maud's  relations,  twelve  in  all. 
Were  very  drunk  at  the  judge's  hall. 


M/!S.   JUDGE  JENKINS.  309 

And  when  the  summer  came  again, 
The  young  bride  bore  him  babies  twain. 

And  the  judge  was  blest,  but  tliought  it  strange 
That  bearing  children  made  such  a  change  : 

For  Maud  grew  broad  and  red  and  stout ; 
And  the  waist  that  his  arm  once  clasped  about 

Was  more  than  he  now  could  span.     And  he 
Sighed  as  he  pondered,  ruefully, 

How  that  which  in  Maud  was  native  grace 
In  ^Irs.  Jenkins  was  out  of  place; 

And  thought  of  the  twins,  and  wished  that  tlu  y 
Looked  less  like  the  man  who  raked  the  hay 


310  AfJ^S.   JUDGE  JENKINS, 

On  Muller's  farm,  and  dreamed  with  pain 
Of  the  day  he  wandered  down  the  lane. 

And,  looking  down  that  dreary  track, 
He  half  regretted  that  he  came  back. 

For,  had  he  waited,  he  might  have  wed 
Some  maiden  fair  and  thoroughbred; 

For  there  be  women  fair  as  she. 
Whose  verbs  and  nouns  do  more  agree. 

Alas  for  maiden  !   alas  for  judge  ! 

And  the  sentimental,  —  that's  one-half  "  fudge ; 

For  Maud  soon  thought  the  judge  a  bore, 
With  all  his  learnincr  and  all  his  Jorp, 


MA'S.   JUDGE  JENKINS.  311 

And  the  judge  would  have  bartered  Maud's  fair  face 
For  more  refinement  and  social  grace. 

If,  of  all  words  of  tongue  and  pen, 
The  saddest  are,  "It  might  have  been,*' 

More  sad  are  these  we  daily  see: 
"It  is,  but  hadn't  ought  to  be." 


AVITOR. 


AN  AERIAL  RETROSPECT. 


^"TXHAT  was  it  filled  my  youthful  dreams, 

In  place  of  Greek  or  Latin  themes, 
Or  beauty's  wild,  bewildering  beams? 

Avitor  ? 


What  visions  and  celestial  scenes 
I  filled  with  aerial  machines, 
Montgolfier's  and  Mr.  Green's  ! 

Avitor  I 


A  VITOR,  313 

What  fairy  tales  seemed  things  of  course! 
The  roc  that  brought  Sindbad  across, 
The  Calendar's  own  winged-horse ! 

Avitor  1 


How  many  things  I  took  for  facts,  — 
Icarus  and  his  conduct  lax, 
And  how  he  sealed  his  fate  with  wax  ! 

Avitor ! 


The  first  balloons  I  sought  to  sail. 
Soap-bubbles  fair,  but  all  too  frail, 
Or  Itites,  —  but  thereby  hangs  a  tail. 

Avitor 


314  A  VITOR. 

What  made  me  launch  from  attic  tall 
A  kitten  and  a  parasol, 
And  watch  their  bitter,  frightful  fall? 

Avitor  ? 


What  youthful  dreams  of  high  renown 
Bade  me  inflate  the  parson's  gown, 
That  went  not  up,  nor  yet  came  down  ? 

Avitor? 


My  first  ascent,  I  may  not  tell : 
Enough  to  know  that  in  that  well 
My  first  high  aspirations  fell. 

Avitor  I 


A  VITOR.  315 

My  other  failures  let  me  pass: 
The  dire  explosions ;   and,  alas ! 
The  friends  I  choked  with  noxious  gas. 

Avitor  I 

For  lol   I  see  perfected  rise 
The  vision  of  my  boyish  eyes, 
The  messenger  of  upper  skies. 

Avitor  t 


A  WHITE-PINE  BALLAD. 


ECENTLY  with  Samuel  Johnson   this   occasion 


E 

I  improved, 


Whereby  certain  gents  of  affluence  I  hear  were  great- 
ly moved; 

But  not  all  of  Johnson's  folly,  although  multiplied  by 
nine, 

Could  compare  with  Milton  Perkins,  late  an  owner 
in  White  Pine. 

316 


A    WHITE-PINE  BALLAD,  317 

Johnson's  foUy  —  to  be  candid  —  was  a  wild  desire  to 

treat 
Every    able    male    white    citizen    he    met    upon    the 

street ; 
And  there  being  several   thousand  —  but   this    subject 

why  pursue  ? 
'Tia  with  Perkins,  and    not   Johnson,  that    to-day  we 

have  to  do. 

No :  not  wild  promiscuous  treating,  not  the  wine-cup's 
ruby  flow. 

But  the  female  of  his  species  brought  the  noble  Per- 
kins low. 

'Twas  a  wild  poetic  fervor,  and  excess  of  sentiment. 

That  left  the  noble  Perkins  in  a  week  without  a 
cent. 


318 

A    WHITE-PINE  BALLAD. 

"Milton    Perkins,"    said 

the   Siren,  "not   thy  wealth 

do  I  admire, 

But  the  intellect  that  flashes  from  those  eyes  of  opal 

fire ; 

And  methinks  the  name 

thou    bearest    surely  cannot 

be  misplaced, 

Andj 

embrace  me.  Mister 
her  embraced. 

Perkins!"     Milton  Perkins 

But 

I   grieve   to   state,   \ 
wiping  dry 

;hat   even   then,    as   she   was 

The  tear  of  sensibility  in 

Milton  Perkins'  eye, 

She 

prigged    his    diamon 
wipe  of  lace 

d    bosom-pin,    and    that    her 

Did 

seem   to    have   of  chloroform    a   most   suspicious 

• 

trace. 

A    WHITE-PINE  BALLAD.  319 

Enough  that  Milton  Perkins  later  in  the  night  was 
found 

With  his  head  in  an  ash-harrel,  and  his  feet  upon 
the  ground; 

And  he  murmured  "  Seraphina,"  and  he  kissed  his 
hand,  and  smiled 

On  a  party  who  went  through  him,  like  an  unresist- 
ing child. 


MORAL. 

Now  one  word  to  Pogonippers,  ere  this  subject  I  re- 
sign, 

In  this  tale  of  Milton  Perkins,  —  late  an  owner  in 
White  Pine,— 


320  A    WHITE-FINE  BALLAD. 

You  shall  see    that  wealth   and  women    are    deceitful, 

just  the  same ; 
Audi  the  tear  of  sensibility  has  salted  many  a  claim. 


WHAT  THE  WOLF    KEALLY    SAID    TO    LIT- 
TLE BED  RIDING-HOOD. 

^T  T^ONDERING  maiden,  so  puzzled  and  fair, 

Why  dost  thou  murmur  and  ponder  and  stare  ? 
Why  are  my  eyelids  so  open  and  wild?  — 
Only  the  better  to*  see  with,  my  child,!. 
Only  the  better  and  clearer  to  view 
Cheeks  that  are  rosy,  and  eyes  that  are  blue. 

Dost  thou  still  wonder,  and  ask  why  these  arms 
Fill  thy  soft  bosom  with  tender  alarms, 
Swaying  so  wickedly?  —  are  they  misplaced, 
Clasping  or  shielding  some  delicate  waist? 

321 


322  LITTLE  RED  RIDING-HOOD. 

Hands  whose  coarse  sinews  may  fill  you  with  fear 
Only  the  better  protect  you,  my  dear ! 

Little  Ked  Riding-Hood,  when  in  the  street. 
Why  do  I  press  your  small  hand  when  we  meet? 
Why,  when  you  timidly  offered  your  cheek. 
Why  did  I  sigh,  and  why  didn't  I  speak? 
Why,  well:    you  see  —  if   the    truth    must    appear 
I'm  not  your  grandmother,  Riding-Hood,  dear! 


THE    RITUALIST. 

BY  A  COMMUNICANT  OF  "  ST.  JAMES'S." 

"T    TE  wore,  I  think,  a  chasuble,  the  day  when  first 

we  met ; 
A  stole  and  snowy  alb  likewise:    I  recollect  it  yet. 
He  called  me  "daughter,"  as  he  raised    his   jewelled 

hand  to  bless; 
And  then,  in  thrilling  undertones,  he  asked,  "Would 

I  confess?" 


324  THE  RITUALIST. 

0  mother,   dear!   blame   not    your  child,   if  then   on 

bended  knees 

1  dropped,  and  thought   of  Abelard,  and  also  Eloise ; 
Or  when,  beside  the  altar  high,  he  bowed  before   the 

pyx. 

I  envied  that  seraphic  kiss  he  gave  the  crucifix. 


The   cruel  world  may  think   it   wrong,   perhaps   may 

deem  me  weak, 
And,    speaking    of   that    sainted    man,   may   call   his 

conduct  "  cheek ;  " 
And,  like  that  wicked  barrister  whom   Cousin   Harry 

quotes, 
May  term   his   mixed  chalice    "  grog,"   his  vestments, 

"  petticoats." 


THE  RITUALIST.  325 

But,  whatsoe'er  they  do  or  say,  I'll  build  a  Chris- 
tian's hope 

On  incense  and  on  altar-lights,  on  chasuble  and 
cope. 

Let  others  prove,  by  precedent,  the  faith  that  they 
profess : 

"His  can't  be  wrong"  that's  symbolized  by  such 
becoming  dress. 


A  MOEAL  VINDICATOR. 

"T"F  Mr.  Jones,  Lycurgus  B., 
Had  one  peculiar  quality, 
'Twas  his  severe  advocacy 
Of  conjugal  fidelity. 

• 
His  views  of  heaven  were  very  free ; 
His  views  of  life  were  painfully 
Ridiculous ;   hut  fervently 
He  dwelt  on  marriage  sanctity. 


A  MORAL    VINDICATOR.  32 < 

He  frequently  went  on  a  spree ; 
But  in  his  wildest  revelry, 
On  this  especial  subject  lie 
Betrayed  no  ambiguity. 

And  though  at  times  Lycurgus  B. 
Did  lay  his  hands  not  lovingly 
Upon  his  wife,  the  sanctity 
Of  wedlock  was  his  guaranty. 

But  Mrs.  Jones  declined  to  see 
Affairs  in  the  same  light  as  he, 
And  quietly  got  a  decree 
Divorcing  her  &om  that  L.  B. 

And  what  did  Jones,  Lycurgus  B., 
With  his  known  idiosyncrasy? 


328  A   MORAL    VINDICATOR. 

He  smiled,  —  a  bitter  smile  to  see,  — 
And  drew  the  weapon  of  Bowie. 

He  did  what  Sickles  did  to  Key,  — 
What  Cole  on  Hiscock  wrought,  did  he 
In  fact,  on  persons  twenty-three 
He  proved  the  marriage  sanctity. 

The  counsellor  who  took  the  fee, 
The  witnesses  and  referee. 
The  judge  who  granted  the  decree. 
Died  in  that  wholesale  butchery. 

And  then  when  Jones,  Lycurgus  B., 
Had  wiped  the  weapon  of  Bowie, 
Twelve  jurymen  did  instantly 
Acquit  and  set  Lycurgus  free. 


SONGS   WITHOUT   SENSE. 

FOE  THE  PAELOR  AND  PIANO. 
I. —  THE    PERSONIFIED    SENTIMENTAL. 

A    FFECTION'S  charm  no  longer  gilds 
The  idol  of  the  shrine ; 
But  cold  Oblivion  seeks  to  fill 

Regret's  ambrosial  wine. 
Though  Friendship's  offering  buried  lies 

'Neath  cold  Aversion's  snow, 
Begard  and  Faith  will  ever  bloom 

Perpetually  below. 

•■a*  329 


330  SONGS   WITHOUT  SENSE. 

I  see  thee  whirl  in  marble  halls, 

In  Pleasure's  giddy  train; 
Remorse  is  never  on  that  brow, 

Nor  Sorrow's  mark  of  pain. 
Deceit  has  marked  thee  for  her  own; 

Inconstancy  the  same ; 
And  Ruin  wildly  sheds  its  gleam 

Athwart  thy  path  of  shame. 


n.  — THE  HOMELY  PATHETIC. 

The  dews  are  heavy  on  my  brow ; 

My  breath  comes  h^d  and  low; 
Yet,  mother,  dear,  grant  one  request, 

Before  your  boy  must  go. 


SONGS   WITHOUT  SENSE.  331 

Oh !   lift  me  ere  my  spirit  sinks, 

And  ere  my  senses  fail : 
Place  me  once  more,  0  mother  dear ! 

Astride  the  old  fence-raiL 

The  old  fence-rail,  the  old  fence-rail ! 

How  oft  these  youthful  legs, 
With  Alice*  and  Ben  Bolt's  were  hung 

Across  those  wooden  pegs. 
'Twas  there  the  nauseating  smoke 

Of  my  first  pipe  arose: 

0  mother,  dear!  these  agonies 
Are  hx  less  keen  than  those. 

» 

1  know  where  lies  the  hazel  dell. 
Where  simple  Nellie  sleeps; 


332  SONGS   WITHOUT  SENSE. 

I  know  the  cot  of  Nettie  Moore, 
And  where  the  willow  weeps. 

I  know  the  brookside  and  the  mill 
But  all  their  pathos  fails 

Beside  the  days  when  once  I  sat 
Astride  the  old  fence-rails. 


m.  — SWISS  AIR. 


I'm  a  gay  tra,  la,  la. 
With  my  fal,  lal,  la,  la, 
And  my  bright  — 
And  my  light  — 

Tra,  la,  le.  [Kepeat.] 


SONGS   WITHOUT  SENSE,  333 

Then  laugh,  ha,  ha,  ha, 
And  ring,  ting,  ling,  ling. 
And  sing  fal,  la,  la. 

La,  la,  le.  [Repeat.] 


^^^^^Ic/X^'i^' 


